


Share and Share Alike

by Gimmesumsuga



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angelic Possession, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempt at Humor, Blow Jobs, Canon Related, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Angst, Dean Winchester Angst, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mark of Cain, Masturbation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Original Character(s), Season/Series 10, Sexual Content, Sharing a Body, Smut, Some Humor, Spoilers, Swearing, Worried Sam, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmesumsuga/pseuds/Gimmesumsuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain is trouble.  Dean knows it, Sam knows it, Castiel knows it.  What the Angel also knows is that if the eldest Winchester is really going to fight it then he needs to have a little faith in himself, and really, when has self-appreciation ever been Dean’s thing?  If only he could find some way to make the Hunter see how much those around him care for him. <i>Love</i> him, even.  But how, without revealing just how deep that love Cas has kept hidden truly goes?  Enter Olivia Cooke; a Supernatural fan who’s about to get an offer she just can’t resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes before we get started;  
> \- The Supernatural universe and characters within it belong entirely to their creators. Thanks goes to the writers for numerous bits of dialogue that I've taken from transcripts.  
> \- This work of fiction runs alongside Season 10 and therefore contains spoilers. Pre-Season 10 runs as canon but I've taken liberties from there on out.  
> \- I'm always nervous about writing characters that are already so well known and loved, so my apologies in advance if you think my characterisations don't ring as true as they should! 
> 
> All that being said, enjoy! 
> 
> Many thanks as always to my proof-reader and Supernatural BFF Lady JB <3

“Cas, listen to me, there’s things you just got to let go.  Okay?  The people you let down, the ones you can’t save… you got to forget about them.  For your own good.”  I feel a smile pull at my mouth as I watch Dean take an enthusiastic bite from the burger he commandeered from Castiel but a moment ago, my eyes transfixed on the images flickering in the dark of my bedroom.

“Is that what you do?”

“That’s the opposite of what I do, but I ain’t exactly a good role model.”  Dean swallows his mouthful and quirks that sardonic, sideways smile that doesn’t shine in his eyes to the Angel sat opposite him.

“That’s not true,” Castiel challenges and it’s clear from the way he looks at Dean that he means it.  There’s barely concealed admiration shining behind the sky blue of his eyes, but as always the man Castiel raised from hell doesn’t see it.  Oh, why can’t you see how much the people around you love you Dean?

I sit cross-legged in front of my shitty television screen as their back and forth continues, picking absent-mindedly at my fingernails and trying to absorb every inch of their handsome faces.  How did these two men get so damn beautiful?  I’m so caught up that it barely feels like any time has passed at all when I realise that this episode is almost over.

Ever since I discovered Supernatural a few months ago it’s provided a wonderful distraction from reality, and though I can barely afford the Netflix subscription it’s still far cheaper than buying a new mattress or fixing the leaking radiator.  Those things are far easier to ignore when Dean’s pouty lips and gorgeous green eyes are in close-up, and I continue to do just that until my neighbour banging loudly on my wall pulls me back from blissful escapism. 

“Alright, alright!” I call back, scrambling for my TV remote.  I don’t know what the delightful Mrs Weathers actually yelled, but I’ll bet it had something to do with the shrillness of the scream Claire Novak just made so I turn the volume on my TV set down further, shifting my position to lie on my front, mouth hanging open.  Oh come on boys, Claire’s a bit of a brat but I still don’t want anything bad to happen to her…

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” Dean says helplessly, his eyes flickering over the carnage that surrounds them, resting anywhere but his brother’s horrified face. 

“No.  Tell me it was them or you!”  Sam pleads, desperate, clutching at Dean’s face and willing it to not be as it looks.  Cas enters the cabin and looks equally as horrified at the scene laid before him; the bloody bodies, the brothers on their knees.  He quickly takes Claire outside and the episode ends with Sam’s hands falling from Dean’s face as he comes to realise what he’s done. 

Wow.  I let out a breath that I didn’t realise I’d been holding, letting my face fall into my hands and shaking it.  Man, that Mark is really going to cause them some trouble.  The boys will find a way around it though; they always do, even if one of them ends up transiently dead as a result.

I strip out of my jeans and climb under the bedcovers in just my t-shirt and underwear, cocooning myself in it as I always do to try and keep out the chill.  I could really do with turning the heating on, but that’s more bills to pay with money that I certainly don’t have to spare.  I should have agreed to do that extra shift; nights always pay more and tired or not I know I could do with the extra cash.   I might have even been able to sneak a sandwich from the kitchen.  Still, it’s too late now.  I may as well resign myself to trying to sleep.

Sleeping seems easier said than done though when my tummy keeps grumbling and my arms are covered in goosepimples, no matter how tightly I pull the covers around me.  I keep imaging that look Dean’s face too; the dawning realisation that he’s really not as fine as he keeps insisting he is.  Poor Dean.  Beautiful, broken Dean.   I know that we’ll see him torturing himself with guilt in the episodes to come, but then again that’s hardly anything new.  All that self-loathing, all those dark thoughts that whisper that he’s disappointed the people he loves, that he’s not worthy of being loved by them in return; they’ll have all been kicked up by this latest transgression, and it breaks my heart.  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware that Dean Winchester is a work of fiction.  That doesn’t stop me from longing to comfort him though, from imagining holding him my arms in that space somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.  I’d do all I could to make him see himself as others see him, as a good man, so much more than just a grunt;  deserving of praise, deserving of love and infinitely stronger than he gives himself credit for.   I wish I could make him see.   I guess a girl can dream. 

* * *

I wake with a start, eyes popping open to look at my ceiling as blue lights flicker over it, the sound of a police car siren fading into the distance.  The noise must have woken me, as it does so many nights.  This really isn’t the best of neighbourhoods; there are far more visits to my apartment block by the police than I ever would have deemed acceptable back when I could afford to be choosier about real-estate location. 

My tummy gurgles again and I sigh heavily, sitting up and rubbing my tired eyes.  It’s no good, I’m going to have to put something in my stomach otherwise I’ll never get back to sleep.  Maybe I’ve got some milk or something...  I sling my legs out of bed as something heavy, probably a lorry, rumbles down the main road outside and temporarily bathes my room in the florescent yellow of its headlights. 

My eyes dart to the corner of my room, blinking hard as everything falls dark again.  I thought for a second there was something… no, it’s just the jacket I hung on the end of the curtain rail playing tricks on my tired eyes.  I let out a breathy laugh of relief, pushing up to stand and wandering out of my bedroom.  Jeez, I’d really thought someone was in here for a moment.  Not that it would be the first I’ve heard about one of these apartments being broken into.  The thought of it makes all the fine hairs on my arms stand on end, something that isn’t helped by how freezing cold it is in my little hallway.  Really, really should have turned the heating on.  At least it doesn’t reek of liquor everywhere anymore, not since dad cleared out to whatever sofa he’s surfing on now.  Got to be thankful for small mercies. 

I grab a glass from the kitchen cupboard, ignoring the way the kitchen tiles are threatening my feet with frostbite, and try to sate my aching stomach with water that comes juddering out of the building’s old plumbing.  I glug it down and feel it hit my insides with a heavy slosh, but unfortunately I don’t think that that’s sated my hunger.  I guess milk it is then.  I pull open my fridge, the light inside illuminating just how depressingly empty it is, and then grab the carton, giving it a cursory sniff to check it hasn’t gone off.  I pour out half a glass and put it back, plunging the kitchen into darkness again.

At least the moon looks pretty tonight.  I wander over to stand over my kitchen sink, peering out of my window to admire the view as I take small, savouring sips from my glass.  I spot a fox slinking through the weeds of the overgrown communal garden and rise up on my tiptoes to watch it as it comes closer to the apartment block, admiring just how stealthily it moves, only rocking back onto my heels when it moves out of sight. 

“Holy fuck!”  I shout, my glass slipping from hand and spilling precious milk all over the kitchen floor when it smashes.  Not that I’m focusing on that though, no, I’m far too preoccupied with the dark outline of a man stood in my kitchen doorway, my pulse rocketing upward as fear grips me tight.  “Get the hell out!  I’ll call the police!”  I threaten, my voice coming out with forced bravado.  I know better than to show any weakness. 

“Please, don’t be afraid,” a deep voice reasons, the silhouettes outline changing to show hands being outstretched in a pacifying gesture, “I don’t mean you any harm.”  I feel like I know his voice, the deep growl a familiar timbre.   Not that it matters, it’s still an uninvited guest in my apartment in the middle of the night, and my body responds accordingly.

“It’s you that should be afraid buddy.”  I take a step forward, barely flinching when I feel broken glass press into the instep of my foot, clenching my fists at my side.   Yeah, ok, so this guy has what, ten inches on me, but so what?  This wouldn’t be the first time a guy has made the mistake of thinking I’m easy pickings just because I’m small. 

“Please,” he appeases again, mirroring my move forward and stepping into the moonlight.   

This time I’m so shocked that it defies verbalisation, the expletives dying inside my mouth even as it falls open, and I involuntarily retreat so that my back hits the kitchen counter. 

His eyes look silver in this light, but even without his crystal blue irises the man stood  in front of me is easily identifiable; the scruff of hair, the stubble dusting his jaw, the trench coat, it all gives him away.

“Castiel?”  I whisper incredulously, not believing my eyes.   I drop them to the floor but they soon flicker back up again, unable to resist checking that what I think I’m seeing is actually there.  But he _can’t_ be.

“Good.  I was concerned you wouldn’t be familiar with me.”  He gives a slight nod as he speaks, seemingly pleased by my flabbergasted recognition. 

“I’m dreaming,” I deny resolutely, one hand gripping the counter behind me and the other pressed to my forehead.  This has to be a dream, it has to be, I’m still sleeping.  “You’re not _real_.  I’m still in my bed asleep, or this is some… some hunger-induced hallucination.” 

“I assure you, I am very real,” Castiel persists.  Or, at least, my delusion does.  “I have come to you with a proposition, Miss Olivia Cooke.” 

Ok, so Cas knows my name… that’s… that…

It’s only when I switch my hand from my forehead to my chest that I realise I’m bordering on hyperventilating, the heavy movement of my chest a stark contrast to how eerily still Castiel stands as he watches me.  I catch his expression bend into bewildered concern as I tip my head forehead and start to fan myself, trying to gulp for air and not pass out, despite my body convincing me that it’s a good idea.

“Olivia, you’re bleeding,” he observes, and even with my head almost between my legs I can see him take another step forward.  I wave that fanning hand in his direction. 

“Please, call me Liv,” I pant out, well aware of how ridiculous it is that I’m telling a fictional Angel of the Lord to not worry about formalities when I’m bent over staring down at his sensible shoes.  “I’m fine, really,” I assure him, glancing up with a feeble smile.   Oh god, he’s actually still there.  Shouldn’t I have woken up by now?  

“I think you should sit down,” Cas says down to me, sounding wary.  I guess he hasn’t really had to deal with many hysterical women before.  I don’t get time to repeat that I’m fine, rendered speechless when a beige arm wraps around my shoulder and starts to escort me to my bedroom.  He certainly _feels_ real, especially when his warm hand clasps around my forearm, gently guiding me back to sit on my bed.  I’m instantly regretful that my room is such a mess, which is a bizarre thing to worry about given the situation. 

He leaves the room for a moment, giving me chance to slow my breathing and arrange my thoughts into some kind of logical arrangement.  I’d dare to think my delusion has passed if it weren’t for the fact that I can hear him rummaging around in my kitchen, the sound of the fridge opening and shutting again confirming that he is definitely here.  Castiel.  The Angel.  Here.  In my apartment.  

“The fuck is going on?”  I mutter to myself, shifting my position on the bed and wincing when I do, the pain in my foot becoming more apparent now that the adrenaline is starting to subside.  I look down and grimace at the sight of a blood red smear on my threadbare carpet, apparent even in the darkness. 

“Here.”  Cas’ voice startles me again, looking up sharply to see him holding out a fresh glass of milk to replace the one I dropped.  Damn it, he probably used up the last of the carton. 

“Thanks,” I murmur, taking the glass after a moment’s hesitation and lifting it to my lips to take a large gulp.  He watches my every moment carefully, silent, unmoving, and I lick the remnants of the milk from the corner of my mouth as I try not to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze.  Intense isn’t even a good enough word to describe it. 

“Why are you… how are you even here Cas?”  I ask after the silence has become intolerable.  The bounding of my pulse is loud enough without it being emphasised by our lack of conversation.  “I thought Supernatural was just a TV show?  You, Sam… Dean… you’re just made up.”

“Do I appear fictional?” he questions, one eyebrow rising marginally as the slightest hint of humour entering his voice.  When I fail to answer him he simply flashes the briefest of smiles at the floor, moving to stand beside me.  “Let me.”  He reaches out and presses two fingers against my forehead before I have chance to even realise what he’s offering.   Suddenly I’m filled with the most wonderful warmth and contentment, like a cat basking in the sun, unable to have a care in the world. 

The feeling leaves as quickly as it came, and when I open up my eyes to gaze at Castiel with my lips slightly parted after the gasp I must have made, he smiles down at me softly.  I don’t have to check my foot to know that those cuts won’t be there any longer. 

“Your grace,” I gush out as I exhale the breath I’d been holding.   He doesn’t have his grace, he’s only running on what he’s borrowed… or taken.  “You shouldn’t be wasting your grace on me Cas, you’re not exactly at full power right now.”  He looks mildly taken aback; perhaps he didn’t realise that I’d be so up to date on the ins and outs of their lives?  That’s if they’re at a point where they’re parallel with the show, anyway. 

“I’ll be fine Olivia,” he says, and I know full well that he’s lying like I was earlier, “Liv,” he corrects, and despite this situation being as weird as it is I find myself grinning inanely up at him.

“You said you had a… proposition for me?”  I ask after a moment, remembering his earlier words and curiosity taking hold of me.  What could Castiel possibly want from me, a simple mortal, not even of the same universe.  God, how much grace did he use up just getting here to me?  He hesitates and then gestures awkwardly to the spot next to me on the bed.

“May I sit?” he requests and I nod my consent.   The material of his trench coat rustles as he sinks into the mattress.  He folds his hands in his lap and when he starts speaking he looks down at them.  “I wanted to ask for your help…”

“My help?”

“With Dean.”  Oh.  I pause, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth to chew on it and in my thoughtful pause Castiel looks up to me, eyes marred with concern.  “Your thoughts reached out to me when you lay down to sleep.” 

My thoughts?  It takes me a moment to recall what thoughts he’s referring to, but when I do that bitten lip pops back out of my mouth, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  All those thoughts I’d been having about consoling Dean, making him realise how much he’s loved, the hugging, the kissing, the… Oh… Castiel heard all of that?

“Well, that’s awkward,” I mumble into my lap, clearing my throat straight after.

“Your sentiments were very sincere, please do not be embarrassed by them,” he assures me, his tone serious, eyes gazing back into mine.  “Your wish to help Dean realise how strong he is; that’s what brought me here.  Dean is insistent that he can fight the Mark of Cain, but he’s filled with such self-doubt that I’m uncertain if even he is convinced of the likelihood of success.”   

“No one hates Dean more than Dean does,” I agree with a nod and a sad smile that he mirrors, allowing himself an emphatic sigh, hands clasping his knees.

“If he is truly to fight the mark he needs someone to… he needs assistance to remember that he is of value.  That his family and his friends believe in him,” Castiel explains and I nod again, following his reasoning.

“I’m not sure where I come into this, though,” I say unsurely.  I mean, of course I’ll help if I can.  I’d do anything to help the Winchester boys, which is extraordinary really, when you think that as of fifteen minutes ago I didn’t even think they were real. 

“I would take the task upon myself but… I don’t think Dean would respond well taking such reassurances from me.”  Cas looks away for a second, a flash of regret passing over his features before it’s quickly masked by that neutral expression of his. 

“So you want me to…?”  I presume, my eyebrows lifting in surprise.  I’m not entirely sure Dean would take it from a perfect stranger either.

“Yes, and no,” Castiel shrugs, looking almost awkward.  I can see him a little better now; the rising sun starting to shine in through my thin bedroom curtains, illuminating his tired face.  Poor Cas… he really needs his grace back.  “I had intended to request your permission to use you as a vessel.”  My mouth flounders for a moment, his polite appeal barely sinking in past the shocked haze in my mind.  A vessel?  Like Jimmy, like the body he’s in now?  Am I even…?  “You’re strong enough to contain me, Liv, but you can always so no.  We can’t possess a vessel without their consent.”

“I know,” I say quickly.  C’mon, I watch the show, of course I know that, and honestly I can’t help but feel a little badass knowing I can contain the spirit of an Angel as impressive as Castiel.  “Would I be awake?  Would I be like… aware of what’s going on?” I question, wanting to know exactly what I’d be signing up for should I agree. 

“Most of the time when an Angel possesses a vessel the human spirit withdraws into a state of dormancy,” Cas explains patiently, his eye contact never faltering, “It is easier that way.  Most humans have very little understanding of the nature of Angels and might be… disturbed or damaged should they be conscious of events around them.  It can also be very distracting for the Angel; most do not enjoy to sharing a mind with another, especially with beings that they consider far inferior to themselves.” 

“But is it possible?” I ask eagerly, drawing my legs up to rest crossed underneath me and leaning forward.  I have a perfectly good understanding of what Angels are like; Angels are dicks, every Supernatural fan knows that, but I already know what to expect.  I would much rather go into this consciously with Castiel than retreat into a long sleep. 

“I believe so, if that’s what you wish,” he confirms with a nod. 

“No offense to you Cas, but I’m not sure you’d make a very convincing twenty-nine year old woman without my help,” I quip before I can help myself, and bless him, the tiniest blush pinks up his cheeks.  Wow, a bashful Angel; that really is a sight to see. 

Should I really do this?  I know I love the show but actually entering a world where demons and ghosts and God knows what else are real?  Add to that the fact that the man I’m agreeing to lend moral support to has the potential to go off on a Mark induced killing spree at any moment… It’s not exactly the safe, sane choice. 

But then what exactly am I leaving behind?  A crappy apartment and almost no family to speak of?  A few well-meaning but generally absent friends?  And I’d really get to meet them; Sam and Dean Winchester.  I’d get to tell Dean how much everyone really cares about him.  When I sit and think about him, about how damaged he’s been these last ten years and how badly he needs the help… I know right away what my answer is. 

I look up into Castiel’s beautiful, expectant gaze and give him an encouraging smile, bracing myself with a deep breath.

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, this is where it gets a little complicated. Dialogue and thoughts from Cas are in **bold** , which I hope makes it easy enough to follow :) Enjoy guys.

“Are you alright?”  Castiel asks softly, placing a hand on my arm in concern.  If it weren’t for the fact the roaring in my ears has started to subside I wouldn’t have been able to hear him at all; hopefully the nausea will follow suit and disappear soon too.

“Yeah, yeah,” I answer quickly, blinking hard to attempt to sort out the way my vision is blurring when I try to look up at him.  I guess a bit of travel sickness is only to be expected when you’re pulled from one reality into another.  “I guess I’m in for some wicked constipation now, aren’t I?”  I chuckle, rubbing my palm back and forth along my forehead, the fuzzy Castiel outline starting to come into focus.  I think my reference to that particular disadvantage of Angel travel that Dean complained about all those seasons ago is a little lost on him because he says nothing, opting for his default stand and stare instead. 

When I manage to straighten myself up, nausea subsiding, I finally take in the room around me.  We’re clearly in one of the bunker bedrooms; there’s a single bed pushed up against one of the white plaster walls and a desk in the corner that supports an illuminated desk lamp and a neat row of old tomes that I’d bet my bottom dollar I wouldn’t be able to read.  Apart from that the room is remarkably sparse, with little decoration to speak of except a singular picture frame sat atop the cherry wood desk.  Even from here I can make out that it’s a candid shot of Dean and Castiel together in one of those rare, light-hearted moments they occasionally share, sat in a bar somewhere.  Dean’s laughing, beer in hand, and even Castiel is smiling down at his lap at whatever joke his friend has made.  It doesn’t surprise me for one moment that Cas has given that particular photo pride of place in his room. 

“Are you ready?” Castiel prompts, the sound of his voice almost making me jump.  I pull my eyes away from the picture frame to look up at him again. 

“Yeah… sure.  What have I got to lose?”  I confirm with a sideways smile, shrugging my shoulders.  Is anyone ever ready for angelic possession?  “How do we do this?” 

“It would be helpful to lie down; I would rather not damage this vessel whilst it’s unoccupied.” 

“Oh, yeah, ok, that makes sense.”  I watch as Castiel swiftly removes his trench coat and the black suit jacket concealed underneath and then hangs them on the back of his desk chair, pausing to brush out a crease before climbing onto the bed in his crisp white shirt and suit pants.  He lies down with his back almost touching the wall, facing outward and looking so innocent that it makes me feel stupid when I realise that my heart is racing at the idea of lying on a bed with Cas.  This is so bizarre.  “So I just climb on in next to you then?”  I check, lifting my eyebrows at him.

“That’s the idea, yes,” he confirms without a hint of hesitation.  Alrighty then. 

I shuffle onto the bed and lie on my side like him so we’re facing each other, trying not to focus on how little space there is in this narrow bed.  I’m glad Cas is so un-phased otherwise this would have the potential to be really awkward.  I give him a shaky smile and he gives a small one back before placing a hand on my upper arm to hold me steady. 

“Try not to fight me,” he advises, his cerulean eyes flicking back and forth between my own.  I give a brief nod and then the entirety of my vision is flooded with a bright, swirling white light that’s tinged with blue.  I fleetingly realise, as my thoughts shrink back and quieten, that I’ve just seen Cas’ spirit leaving Jimmy’s vessel and reaching out to mine, and for the briefest of moments I am absolutely terrified.

* * *

 

“What the hell?!” 

**Olivia, are you there?**

Cas?  Oh God this is weird, it’s like… it’s like being crammed inside a dark wardrobe with another person that you can’t help sharing an uncomfortable amount of physical contact with even though you barely know each other.  Oh this is just… yucky. 

**Yes, that certainly seems an appropriate analogy.  I could do with your assistance.  Are you aware of our surroundings?**

I think...  Yes.  The more I think about it the more it’s like the shutters are being lifted from across my eyes, letting all the light back in, and it feels a little better, a little less claustrophobic.  Although I have to say, the vision I’m welcomed with is hardly a friendly one. 

Dean stands in front of us, his stature taking up almost the entirety of the door frame, and boy, does he look confused.  Confused and _pissed._   I must have lost a few minutes somewhere; I don’t even remember standing up from the bed, nor moving Cas’… Jimmy’s body into the pose he’s in now, lying flat on his back, arms neatly tucked against his sides.  He looks peaceful at rest, younger and more handsome when the weight of the world isn’t laid across his shoulders.

**Thank you, Liv, but as flattering as that is may I draw your attention back to the matter at hand?**

As my head turns back to Dean through no conscious effort on my part I’m suddenly very glad that Cas seems to be the one in control of my physical form, otherwise I’d be blushing pretty hard right now.  I don’t think I’d thought through what it’d be like sharing my head space with a socially awkward stranger.

“Cas?  Cas?!”  Dean calls, his tone becoming increasingly panicked as he catches sight of his friend lay unmoving on the bed.  He barges into the room, knocking into my shoulder and sending me stumbling backward into the desk in his hurry to reach the empty vessel, taking hold of Jimmy’s shoulders and shaking him frantically.  “Cas?!”

Castiel… he thinks you’re dead.  The Angel in my head says nothing but I still feel the wave of sadness and regret that washes over him when he realises just how bad this must look  to the friend that’s been brought to his knees.    

**“It’s alright, Dean,”** Castiel says through my lips, and when he utters those words it’s enough to make the hunter lift his head from where it was pressed to the front of Jimmy’s shirt and fix us with a terrifyingly fierce stare. 

“Sam!” he yells as he stands, and then before I know what’s happening Dean has sprung to his feet and grabbed me by the scruff of my t-shirt, yanking me from the desk and slamming me back against the wall, his forearm across my neck and pressing down hard enough to make breathing a struggle.  I panic, trapped by the incapability to move my own limbs.  If I could I’d be fighting and trying to pull his arm from my windpipe but Cas is remarkably calm despite this being just as uncomfortable for him as it is me. 

“Wait!”  I squeak out, at least able to speak if nothing else, my hands clenched by my sides and Cas tilting my chin up and rising on tiptoe to try and ease some of the pressure. 

“What the hell are you?!” Dean growls, his face menacingly close to mine as his eyes flicker over the features of my face.  Even filled with anger they’re truly stunning, such a beautiful shade of green.  “What have you done to him?!” 

**“My name is Olivia Cooke,”** Castiel replies evenly.  It’s so _weird_ hearing things come out in my voice and not being the one saying them.  This is really going to take some getting used to.  

“Liv, my name’s Liv,” I add, because really, what frightened young woman introduces herself like that?  C’mon Cas.  “I swear I didn’t do anything, seriously.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I call bullshit on that sweetheart,” Dean scoffs, not easing up that pressure against my throat.  Sam Winchester comes running in as Dean is mid-sentence and his gun is already drawn, the barrel circling around the room as he scans it, eyes landing on Cas and then me.  Shit, this is not getting any better. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, voice softer than Dean’s but face just as concerned, eyes flickering between the two of us as he keeps his gun focused on me.  At least it’s kind of flattering that they’re taking me seriously as a threat, I guess.

**“There’s something in his hand,”** Cas tells them and I notice the flicker of hesitation on Sam’s face as he debates whether to give up his shot to investigate as his curiosity tells him to,  **“A note.”**  He must have planted something on himself before we were found; at least he didn’t go into this completely unprepared.  Still, we could have really done with getting our story straight _before_ being discovered by the world’s most deadly duo, especially with Dean’s propensity to shoot first and ask questions later policy of late.  

**Hindsight is a wonderful thing.**  

Yes, Cas, it sure is.

“I’ve got her,” Dean tells Sam with a slight cock of his head, his eyes not leaving mine, and Sam lowers his gun to move to Jimmy’s side.  I need to weigh in here, give some kind of explanation as to why or how I’m here.

**Dean _must not_ know I have taken another vessel. **  

Ok, ok.  Loud and clear Castiel.    

“Dean,” I start, and the anger behind his eyes gives way to puzzlement for a second, obviously wondering how I know his name.  The pressure from his arm lessens marginally, making it easier for me to speak.  “Honestly, I don’t know how I got here,” I lie, “The last thing I remember is going to sleep and then I woke up here, in the bunker.  I don’t know what happened to Cas, I really don’t, I’m just as freaked out as you are.”  I hope Cas is adopting as innocent as an expression as I would wish to, though I know he’ll feel the guilt ebbing through me for lying to them.  

“How do you know our names?”  Sam questions, his eyebrows pulled down low in confusion, gun lowered by his side and the unfolded note held aloft in the other hand.  He passes it to Dean’s free hand, who he scowls hard as he reads. 

**Be honest.**

“It’s like… like… ‘The French Mistake’,” I begin and one of Dean’s eyebrows rises quizzically, interrupting his focus on the note, “When Balthazar… there was a TV show of your lives.  You know, when everyone was calling you Jensen and Jared.”  Dean groans audibly, rolling his head back.

“I was perfectly happy never hearing those douchey names again,” he scowls and glances to his brother.  “What were you?  A pada-pala-nookie?”

“Padalecki,” Sam corrects with a matching grimace.

“I watch the show, that’s how I know your names,” I continue, hoping that they’ll believe me and Dean will relinquish his arm soon.  I’m really starting to feel a little light-headed.  “And how I know you’ve got a Mark on this arm.”  Cas raises my hand to lightly touch the forearm holding us to the wall and Dean springs back as though it burns, his eyes widening and mouth coming open.  Finally my lungs are able to fully inflate again, the rush of oxygen momentarily making the dizziness worse before it gets better. 

“You probably know we’re not the best hosts at the moment then…” Sam mutters, his worried eyes following Dean.  I know why he’s looking at him like that; I know that when he ran in here he wouldn’t have just been concerned about an intruder but fearful that his brother was lost to the Mark’s influence once more.

**Dean has more self-control than that.**  

I really hope you’re right.

“What the hell does this note mean anyway?”  Dean grumbles, pulling himself back together and brandishing the piece of paper accusingly at no one in particular, “Sleeping to conserve his grace?  What is he, a bear?!”  A guffaw of a laugh pops out of me before I can control myself and the look on Dean’s face lets me know he doesn’t appreciate it.

“I guess there’s still some parts of Angel lore that we don’t know about,” Sam muses thoughtfully, looking back to Jimmy lying still and silent on the bed, “Maybe they do… hibernate,” he finishes lamely, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Well it would have been nice for him to give us a head’s up.”  Dean sighs heavily, stuffing the note in his back pocket and then running a hand over his mouth, eyes focused on the floor. 

**“I’m sorry,”** Castiel apologises automatically before I can advise him not to and Dean’s eyes snap back to look back at me, almost as if he’d forgotten I was there. 

“I mean… me showing up isn’t exactly good timing,” I reason, trying to gloss over Cas’ inappropriate apology.

“No shit,” Dean says harshly and Sam nearly flinches, casting a sympathetic look my way, “I’m still not convinced this is just co-incidence.”  He folds his arms across his chest, frowning hard as he inspects me from head to toe in a way that makes my insides clench with excitement.  Untrusting and stand offish or not, Dean is still heartbreakingly handsome.  I’m aware of lovely warmth filling the space that our minds share; something I take as an indication that Castiel agrees with my sentiment.  Whether he knows that I know he’s agreeing is another matter.  But now that I’m thinking about him knowing what I know then he must do, because he knows what I’m thinking too.  Oh god this is getting confusing.  

“So what do we do with her?”  Sam asks, drawing my attention back to our current predicament; a welcome relief from trying to figure out the intricacies of mine and Cas’ strange co-habitation.  He’s examining me closely too, although far less threateningly than his brother. 

“Come on, pint size,” Dean says gruffly, springing into action and taking hold of my arm in a tight grip, practically dragging me out of the room with him whilst I scoff at his ungracious reference to my short stature. 

“My name is _Liv._ ”

**“Must you man-handle me?”**  Castiel pipes up grumpily, obviously becoming as irritated by Dean’s needlessly harsh treatment as I am. 

“Until I know you’re human, yes,” he grunts, looking straight ahead as he pulls me through bunker corridors.  I guess he has a point, in this reality nothing is ever quite as it seems.  Hell, we are lying to them; I’m hardly what you’d call 100% human right now. 

What if they use an angel blade?  Will that give us away?

**An Angel shouldn’t be something they suspect.**

And if they do?  That’s a bit of a gamble, Cas.  He remains tactfully silent, so I guess that means we’ll cross that bridge if it comes to it.  I’m tugged all the way into the war-room of the bunker and pressed into one of the chairs that sits around the world map adorned table.  Despite the fact that I’m nervous about what’s about to happen I can’t help but look around myself in wonderment, hardly daring to believe that I’m actually here in the Men of Letters bunker, HQ, the Batcave. 

Sam trails in behind us, gun discarded but carrying several other items that he plonks onto the table heavily; a container of salt, an iron nail, Holy water, and a knife.  

“Do I get tequila and lime with that?”  I joke, and much to my satisfaction I see the corner of Dean’s mouth tug into a smile that he resists, clearing his throat. 

“If you watch 'the show', you know the drill,” he says, all business again as he hands me the salt.  Castiel complies promptly, shaking a small amount of salt onto the palm of my hand and licking it up, grimacing at the taste but otherwise free of ill effect.   Sam presses the iron nail into my open palm, nodding with satisfaction when I don’t burn at the contact and I’m just looking up at him and admiring how obscenely tall he is in person when I’m hit in the face with the Holy water, making me cough and splutter.

“Fucking hell, a bit of warning would have been nice!”  I huff out in Dean’s direction, wiping my face with the bottom of my t-shirt.  I suppose I can’t begrudge him too much; he’s had it flung needlessly in his face enough times, he’s just getting his own back. 

“One last test,” Dean prompts, ignoring my indignation as he thuds the Holy water back onto the table and Sam offers me the knife, handle first. 

“Sorry,” he says regretfully as Cas takes it without hesitation and I see Dean roll his eyes at his brother’s apology, his arms folded.  Do I really have to?

**They won’t trust you if we don’t, Olivia.  It’ll heal.**

It’s Liv, Cas, and probably too quickly with you riding shotgun.  Despite my reservations I watch as Castiel holds out my palm and brace myself as he unflinchingly drags the knife across it, deep red blood oozing as he does.  Thankfully his reaction is as mine; sucking in a sharp breath at the initial sting of pain that leaves a throbbing ache in its wake. 

**“I presume that will suffice?”** Castiel asks.  He really needs to work on sounding less… well… just less like an Angel.  I’m certainly not so well spoken and it’ll start looking suspicious if we keep flip-flopping back and forth. 

“Yeah,” Dean says shortly, turning away and leaving the room, like he’s almost disappointed.  He’s probably just gunning for a fight, worried about Cas and wanting someone to take all that pent up guilt out on.  I’d have been a convenient target, really. 

Sam kneels in front of me and pulls a scrap of material from the back pocket of his jeans, Castiel offering my hand to him to bandage up.  He quickly assesses the wound with a grim expression, holding my appendage steady with a surprisingly gentle touch, and then wraps it in the cloth. 

“Sorry about Dean,” he says as he winds it round and round, “He’s… he’s not really himself right now.”  He ties a knot in it and then takes my other hand and presses it against the wound.

“I know,” I say understandingly, “He’s been through a lot.  You both have.”  He glances up at me and I find myself mesmorised trying to figure out the colour of his eyes.  They’re brown, almost amber around the middle, rimmed in green not too dissimilar to Dean’s. 

“Just keep some pressure on it,” he tells me, “It’ll stop the bleeding.”  He lets go of my hands and rises to his great height again, pausing to push his hair back from where it’s flopped forward around his face. 

**“Thank you, Sam.”**

“No problem,” Sam replies with a small smile, stuffing his hand in his pockets and then shrugging.  “I know you’re probably eager to get home… but it’s kinda late and seeing as we don’t have the first idea how we’re actually going to do that… you’re welcome to stay.  There’s plenty of rooms going spare.”  

“Thanks,” I say gratefully, nodding and rising from my chair then following Sam from the room, walking side by side.  I’m almost embarrassingly tiny standing next to him, the top of my head barely reaching his shoulders.  “To be honest I’m not in any real rush, it’s kind of awesome to be here after watching you guys for so long.”  Plus there’s the whole reason I came in the first place; to help Dean.  He chuckles softly at my misplaced enthusiasm and shakes his head as we walk. “You seem like you could do with the help too… no offense.” 

“If you’ve watched our lives you should already know it’s not a good idea to go affiliating yourself with the Winchesters,” Sam warns, his voice humourful even though I know he’s being deadly serious.  I probably would be a little more worried if it wasn’t for the Angel lurking inside of me; women in Supernatural do have a nasty habit of dying too soon. 

**I am by no means invulnerable Olivia.  We should exercise appropriate caution.**

Yeah, yeah, I know. 

“I’m tougher than I look,” I grin up at him despite Castiel’s disapproval, coming to a halt in front of a door that presumably leads to one of the unused bedrooms he mentioned.  He huffs a laugh and smiles back down at me then jabs his thumb over his shoulder. 

“My room’s just down the hall,” He points back the other way.  “Dean’s in 11.”  I look at the door we’re stood in front of; number 13.  Hm, I hope that’s not unlucky.  “He’ll make dinner soon; that usually helps get him out of whatever bitch-fit he’s in.”

“It’ll take a bloody impressive cheeseburger to sort out that Mark,” I say before I can help myself, immediately regretting mentioning it when Sam’s face that was so full of humour falls again, that concern flooding back. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing down at the floor.  “I’ll… uh… I’ll knock you when dinner’s ready.”

“Sure.”  He casts a look over my shoulder and down the hallway to where I know Dean’s room lies, chewing on the inside of his mouth before turning away and making for his own.   “Thanks Sam.” 


	3. Chapter 3

“Something smells _amazing_ ,” I enthuse as I take a seat at one of the long wooden tables in the library.  I don’t know where the kitchen is but I’m pretty sure I could find it just by following the wonderful aroma wafting down one of rooms the many adjoining corridors.  Sam smiles a small smile and sits down next to me, long limbs draped over the arms of the chair and hands folded in his lap, ignoring the beer that’s already sat there waiting for him.

Please tell me we can still eat this Cas, please say I can still taste.   

**There’s no physical need for you to eat, but you may if you wish.**

Oh thank god.  My heart sours with happiness; it’s been so long since I had a good meal!  I swear I can feel amusement trickling through to me from Cas, who’s clearly finding it humorous that I’m so eager and easily pleased. 

Dean enters, looking practically domesticated with three plates balanced in his hands and the crook of his arm, frowning hard as he focuses on not dropping them.  He plonks them down in front of us unceremoniously, barely looking at either of us before slumping into the seat opposite and digging in without another word.  If I’m going to try to get through to him I really need to start chipping through this frosty exterior of his. 

“Can I help you?” he suddenly asks, letting his fork drop a little and looking up directly into my eyes expectantly.  It’s only then that I realise I’ve – we’ve been staring.  Well, not even me really, it’s Cas doing his usual Cas thing, fixing Dean with those long, lingering looks. 

**I am simply concerned for my comrade’s well-being.**

Yeah, sure Cas, whatever.  Dean continues to stare me out, unblinking and impatient for me to reply, Sam pretending like he’s not noticing the impending conflict.

**“No, thank you Dean.  This will more than suffice,”** Castiel says on my behalf and Dean grunts and turns back to his meal, shovelling another forkful of beef casserole into his mouth.  Seriously, who would have thought Dean Winchester could make _casserole?_

“Actually, could I get something to drink?” I contradict a moment later and Dean sighs heavily, letting his fork clatter down to his plate this time, sitting up straight in his seat.  Man, he really seems like he can’t stand me doesn’t he?

“You want a beer or something?”  Sam asks from my side and Dean shoots him an incredulous look, appalled that Sam would dare offer up one of his precious beers. 

“I don’t drink,” I answer quickly and that just pulls the look back to me.

“Great, we’ve got a frickin’ tee-totaller.”  He lets his weight fall heavily back into the chair and just continues to stare back at me as he lifts his own beer to his lips and takes a heavy slug, as if daring me to say something. 

“I’ll see if we’ve got some soda or something,” Sam mutters, excusing himself from the table and leaving Dean and I to our awkward silence. 

I can feel myself starting to lose my temper as he quirks an eyebrow at me, can feel prickling anger irritating my skin, but just when I’m about to open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind Castiel chooses that moment to shovel a forkful of food into my mouth. 

**Eat.**

God damn it Cas! He can’t just –

“Fuck me, that’s good!” I cry, mouth full, as the flavours explode on my tongue.  I don’t know if it’s just that Dean’s an amazing cook or if it’s because I’ve got an Angel on board, but wow, it really is good; the beef succulent without being chewy, the carrots still with a little bit of bite despite the fact they’ve been stewing in gravy. 

“At least you appreciate good food,” Dean comments dryly, but when we look up I'm pleased to see a small, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he watches me chew.  It makes my heart flutter and it must do the same to Cas because we end up coyly smiling back, neither of us looking away until Sam finally returns and places a glass of cola in front of me. 

“Hope that’s alright, s’all we had,” he apologises as he takes his seat again.

“No, that’s great Sam, thanks,” I tell him, and I want to reach out and take a sip or continue eating but Cas is far too distracted to focus on feeding me.  He’s busy staring at Dean’s jaw as it works to mulch his food, concentrating on his pouty lips as they slide over his fork with his gaze elsewhere as he begins to flip through a thick book with his free hand.  And yeah, heaven knows I could get lost in watching him too, but I’m hungry here.

Cas, will you stop ‘worrying about your comrade’ and feed me please?  I feel him startle, embarrassed, and I know my cheeks will be flushing for seemingly no reason but at least that got his attention.

**My apologies.**

I get it Cas, really, I do.  He obliges, feeding me another mouthful of casserole that’s as delicious as the last.

**I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re ‘getting’.**

Yes, you do.  But whatever, I won’t press.  We’ll talk about this later - just be grateful I’m enjoying the grub.  

“I was thinking we could try that spell of Balthazar’s tomorrow, Liv, see if that’ll get you home,” Sam tells me after a moment, eating at a far more sedate pace than Dean and myself.  We’ve both almost cleared our plates already; Castiel seems to have no concept of pacing his mouthfuls and seeing as I’m not exactly at risk of choking I’m more than happy to go with it. 

“It’s worth a try, I guess,” I agree non-committedly.  For one, I don’t want to leave yet, and two, I’m pretty damn sure it won’t work. 

**“I’m fairly certain my being here isn’t of angelic design,”** Cas adds, putting far too much emphasis on the fact that this _isn’t_ his doing.  Way to go Cas, way to act natural.  Dean and Sam exchange a quizzical glance and are about to start questioning me more, I think, when a loud cry of frustration echoes around the bunker. 

“The fuck is that?!”  I ask, my voice portraying far more shock than my body, which remains oddly still despite my surprise.

**Metatron.**

Say what now?!

“You’ve got… Is that… _Metatron?_ ”  I question them incredulously.  What the hell is he doing here?  They exchange guilty looks, Sam shifting in his seat.

“Cas brought him here before he decided to go _take a nap_ ,” Dean explains bitterly, wounding Cas and filling him with regretful thoughts. 

“He thought he might know a way to get rid of the Mark.  We haven’t had much luck with the Lore,” Sam continues, eyes glancing to Dean’s arm where the Mark is currently concealed under plaid.

“That’s an understatement,” Dean scoffs, flipping the book he was thumbing through closed and pushing it away from himself.

**“When are you planning to interrogate him?”** Cas chimes in and an unpleasant look settles on Dean’s face, his eyes glinting. 

“Oh he can stew in there a while longer.  I’ll get my hands on him tomorrow.”  He sounds as if he can’t wait, and that in itself is worrying.

**“I’m not sure you’re the appropriate person to do that, Dean, perhaps Sam should –“**

“Oh, and you think you are?” Dean interrupts sarcastically, raising both of his eyebrows at me. 

Cas, shut up.

**Metatron must not be harmed, that was part of the deal to secure bringing him here**.  Cas’ thoughts are loud and insistent but he takes a step back nonetheless, realising that he’s just irritating Dean further. 

“No, obviously,” I laugh nervously, “It’s just… I’m guessing the other Angels wouldn’t be too impressed if he comes back with fingers missing.” 

“She's got a point, Dean,” Sam chimes in and Dean sighs heavily. 

“Keep tellin’ you Sammy, I’m _fine._ ”  Dean takes a deep pull of beer from his bottle, slamming it back down empty onto the table with troubled eyes that won’t look at either of us.  Fine my ass.

“Yeah, but –“

“Jeez, would it kill you to have a little faith in me?” 

**“You’re a good man, Dean.”** He looks up at me, fixing me in a piercing stare that makes me want to shrink back and reach for him all at once. 

“But even the best of men would want to shiv that great big bag of dicks,” I finish, making both of them laugh. 

“You’re not wrong there,” Dean agrees through chuckles, his shoulders relaxing again, a genuine smile on his face.  It’s so lovely, seeing him laugh like that.  He almost looks like the Dean Winchester from nine years ago, when dealing with just one demon seemed like a big deal and he was practically carefree.  Well, sort of.

**I wish I had known him then.**   Cas’ musing rings through to me clear, although from the embarrassment that thrums with it I don’t think he meant it to. 

**“Thank you for dinner, Dean, it was delicious,”** Cas says suddenly, standing us up from the table and nodding my head stiffly.  These guys are going to think I’m bipolar or something, I swear. 

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome,” he replies, clearly uncomfortable with the praise, picking up his fork again to finish his last few bites. 

“I’m just really tired,” I explain lamely, because it appears as though Cas wants to leave whether I want to or not, “Inter-reality jetlag or something.”  Sam chuckles, twisting in his seat to look at me, beer bottle still in hand.

“I can take you to the store tomorrow if you want?  You’re gonna need at least one change of clothes,” he offers kindly.  I hadn’t even thought about that.

“Sure, that’d be great,” I agree as Cas is stepping us backward and Sam flashes me another smile, his cheeks dimpling as he does.  

* * *

 

Cas says nothing as he walks us back to my room, our room, but I can feel a general hum of anxiety buzzing away in the background that tells me something is bothering him.  He sits down on the bed and stares straight ahead, giving me a fascinating view of the blank white wall and sparse bookshelf resting on it.  If I’m going to be staying here for the foreseeable future I really need to put some homey touches in this place.  Maybe I can pick up a couple things at the store tomorrow? 

**I will try not to keep you here for longer than is necessary Olivia.**

“Liv,” I say out loud, making sure to keep my voice quiet just in case Sam or Dean should overhear and think that I’m talking to myself.  We could just talk back and forth internally but to be honest it just gets a little confusing trying to figure out which bits are thoughts rather than dialogue actually intended for me.  “I volunteered for this Cas, I’m happy to be here, even if Dean is a bit… touchy.”

**He has certainly been more volatile since branded with Cain’s Mark.**

“Just a little.”  I sigh heavily and when I think about lying down Cas does it for me, resting my head back on the pillow to stare at the ceiling instead.  A few quiet moments pass and then I decide to broach the subject from earlier that I’d promised to come back to.  “Are we going to talk about you and Dean?” There’s a pregnant pause, a flash of awkwardness that’s quickly suppressed.

**What about Dean and I?**

“You know, the being hopelessly in love with him thing.”

**I don’t –**

“Castiel, I’ve watched you guys for six years ok?  I’m cool with it; thousands of people are cool with it.  There’s only so many not-so-subtle references can be made about your profound bond and the fact that you choose Dean over everything else over, and over, and over again before two and two gets put together.”  

Silence again.  God, this is like pulling teeth.  Fine, if you want to be stubborn. 

**Angels don’t sleep you know.**  

I was thinking about closing my eyes, not sleeping.  After a second Cas does just that, engulfing the both of us in the darkness behind my eyelids. 

“You know there’s one sure way of finding out if you’re as impartial to Dean as you say you are, Cas,” I mumble, the words barely loud enough to be heard.  Apprehension flashes. 

Now, I’ve always had a good imagination, so it doesn’t take much effort for me to start painting images on the blank canvas of our shared space.  I imagine Dean’s face; his angular cheekbones and strong jaw, piercing green eyes and pouty lips and it’s almost sickening just how perfectly he’s put together.  His imagined expression changes so he’s smiling that full-watt grin of his, eyes twinkling, and when it fades and his tongue flicks out to moisten his bottom lip I feel an instantaneous and identical reaction from both Cas and myself. 

**What are you doing?**  Even Cas’ thoughts sound breathless, my stomach rolling with excitement when I picture Dean stripping from his t-shirt, pulling it one-handed up and over his head to reveal a firm stomach and muscular shoulders, his anti-possession tattoo a stark contrast to his otherwise flawless skin.  I add Jimmy to the mix, Castiel as I know him best, topless too and chest heaving as he’s enfolded in Dean’s arms, his body narrower but every bit as muscular and appealing as the man embracing him.  When they start to kiss, Cas’ hand finding its way into the back of Dean’s hair, it proves to be too much for Castiel.

**“That’s enough!”** The outburst comes leaping from my lips and at that the imaginings disappear, my eyes opening.  We lie there in silence for a moment, half-anticipating one of the brothers to come bursting in at that sudden and desperate exclamation, but no one does.  It must have gone unnoticed.

What doesn’t go unnoticed though is Cas’ physical reaction from the thoughts I’d planted.  I watch too as he inspects my body; the way my hands are clutching the sheets by my sides, my chest rising and falling with heavy, shaking breaths.  When he finally releases the bed covers and touches my face it feels hot too, flushed with the blood being pumped too fast and hard by my pounding heart. 

I think I proved my point. 

**“With all of humanity’s usual subtlety, yes,”** he replies quietly, clearly disgruntled; I recognise that tone well.  He squeezes my legs together and I chuckle silently.  I know that gesture. Years of sexual frustration means I’d know exactly what that indicates even if I was oblivious to the ache that’s there.  **“I’ve never experienced arousal in female form before,”** Cas confesses, that irritation leaving my voice and curiosity taking its place.

**It’s rather overwhelming.**

“Tell me about it,” I laugh softly as he presses again, taking a sharp breath in when a throb of pleasure comes from the friction of my underwear.  “We’d better find a bathroom unless you want to lie here like this all night.”  Cas takes my advice and rises from the bed so smoothly that I have to admit that my body moves far more gracefully when he’s in charge. 

**You have my apologies for withholding certain truths Oliv – Liv.  Expressing the true nature of my feelings regarding Dean is not something that has ever been… encouraged before.  It does not come easily.**

Don’t worry about it.  It’s not like we can hide anything from each other like this anyway.

We exit the bedroom and head a few doors down to the shared bathroom, Cas obviously familiar with the layout of the bunker.  I guess he must have used the toilet here a few times when he was human, even if he has no need for it now. 

He locks the door behind us, heading straight for the toilet and dropping my jeans unceremoniously, my underwear that’s slick with arousal quickly following them. 

**This is… messy.** **This happens every time?**

The bathroom fills with the sound of my soft laughter as he begins to clean up, throwing the discarded tissues into the toilet bowl as he goes.  I’d expected to feel uncomfortable having Cas performing such an intimate act, but he’s so quick and clinical about it that that embarrassment never comes.   It’s either that or I’m fast becoming used to having him as a lodger. 

Did you want a female vessel so you could have a relationship with him, Cas?  He looks up abruptly from where we’re stood in front of the sink washing my hands, my grey eyes looking back at us in the mirror with surprise. 

**I was honest about my intentions; I want to be a comfort to Dean, as you do.  To help him fight the Mark.** He’s being sincere, I can tell, my too-small eyes held wide in an innocent expression, lips slightly parted. 

I get the feeling you wouldn’t mind, though, if that was what he wanted?  True to form my pale face flushes with blood, cheeks turning pink, and Cas looks back down at my soapy hands to finish washing them, avoiding the question. Castiel seems about as good at talking about his feelings as Dean; probably a side-effect of having to repress them so much for fear of the negative repercussions. 

He dries my hands and steps out from the bathroom to head back to our room, my footsteps quick and light.

**You can sleep, if you wish.  I can rouse your consciousness when required.**

We can do that?  Kind of like… leave my body on auto-pilot with you?

**Yes.  I shall endeavour to be a responsible flier in your absence.**  I feel my lips pull into a smile at Castiel’s little joke, his amusement tinkling through the bond we share.

“You could have given us some warning, Cas.”  Cas freezes at the sound of Dean’s quiet voice uttering his name, turning my head to seek out the source of the sound as my feet become cemented to the spot.  It’s coming from the room we left Jimmy in, and when I urge Cas to approach I feel strong resistance.

**That’s eavesdropping.**

It’s not!  He’s talking to _you_.  At my insistence we pad closer to the door that’s slightly ajar, open enough to see Dean sat on the desk, resting his elbows on his knees and gazing at the unmoving vessel.

“You got any idea how much it freaked me out seein’ you like this?  You look... _._ ”  Dean’s voice is barely a broken whisper as he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, and I realise that it’s only because of Castiel’s amplified hearing that we discovered he was in here at all.   Dean sighs and rubs both hands over his face, exuding weariness, unable to remove his eyes from Cas’ meatsuit.  “I could really do with you being around.” 

Castiel continues to linger outside the room, hidden from Dean’s sight despite my encouragement, despite this being the perfect moment for that comfort we’re so desperate to give.

I think he cares for you more than you think he does.

**I’m useful to the Winchesters… I aid them as best I can.** Denial goes hand in hand with self-depreciating thoughts, apparently.  Despite his best intentions Cas knows he’s ended up doing more harm than good or more than one occasion.  I’m about to start arguing with him, to tell the Angel just how valuable he really is to Sam and Dean – god, do all these guys need a pep-talk? – when Dean slides down from the desk and makes for the door. 

“Sleep well buddy,” Dean murmurs as he pulls open the door and Cas takes us a few quick steps backwards, trying to hide the fact that we’ve been listening so intently.  Dean’s looking at the floor and worrying his lip as he shuts the door after him, eyebrows pulled down into a frown and only looking up when I speak.

“How’s he doing?” I enquire, telling Cas to smile when Dean is so obviously caught off guard, his cheeks flushing pink under his freckles at being discovered having a heart-to-heart with the unresponsive Angel.   

“Sleeping,” he replies after clearing his throat and putting his face straight, looking down at me from where he stands only a pace or two away.  His expression is the softest it’s been since I’ve gotten here, left more vulnerable and open after sitting in there worrying about his friend. 

“He’ll be ok, Dean,” I assure kindly, urging Cas to take a step forward which he does, gazing back up into the man’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, but I can tell from the way he briefly glances away and clenches his jaw that he’s not so sure.   

“Well, goodnight.”  Keep smiling Cas.  The corner of Dean’s lips turn upward into the smallest of smiles in reply, his eyes drifting over my features as if it’s the first time he’s really _seeing_ me. 

“Night,” he says softly.

Walk away, touch him.

**Olivia, I’m not sure I –**

C’mon Cas!  Despite his initial hesitation the Angel does as I encourage, brushing past him and pressing my fingertips to his bicep, squeezing lightly as he does.  Dean watches the gesture closely, his lips parting in pleasant surprise, and as we walk away I know he’s watching us leave.  A giddy Cas is unable to stop himself from looking back, turning my head to peer back over my shoulder as we come to the bedroom door. 

**“Night, Dean.”**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait guys; been somewhat preoccupied with Gishwhes this week (I'm sure you understand). Hopefully I'll be back to writing plenty now :)

**Olivia, wake up.**

Liv, damn it.  

It’s so weird: this process of dragging my consciousness back to the shared forefront of my mind when I feel Cas’ ethereal presence lightly brush… well… whatever this part of me is.  It’s nothing like waking up; there’s no groggy leftover sleepiness to speak of.  It’s like one moment I’m not self-aware and the next I am, wide awake and ready for action.  It makes a nice change to be honest. 

“Liv, you awake?”  Sam’s polite enquiry echoes through the closed door following his knock, which is presumably his second.  We’re already stood right in front of the door ready to open it, Cas wisely waiting for my presence before taking on any impromptu social interaction.  He opens up the door and looks to Sam who immediately gives us a bright smile, stood there dressed in one of his usual snap-up plaid shirts and holding another.

**“Good morning, Sam,”** Castiel greets with a nod of our head, formal as always. 

“Hey, morning,” he grins, copying the gesture and bobbing his head too, “You sleep ok?”

**“I am adequately rested, thank you.”**

“The bed was super comfy,” I add, mentally reminding Castiel to try not to sound quite so verbally constipated all the time.  I see Sam’s eyes flicker to the bed behind us and when Cas turns to follow his gaze I find that it’s completely pristine and untouched, something that raises one of Sam’s eyebrows questioningly.  “I work in a care home, y’know, back home,” I blather quickly, “I make a lotta beds…”    

“I can see that,” Sam chuckles, thankfully not dwelling on it further, inhaling deeply and then brandishing the shirt he’s holding towards me.  “This’ll probably be huge but I figured you didn’t have anything to wear till we go to the store…”

“That’s really sweet,” I tell him, taking the blue plaid shirt with an appreciative smile.  He’s not wrong; this probably will be far too big for me, but it’s still very kind of him to offer it anyway.  I’ll make do for now, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve worn clothes that don’t quite fit me for the sake of frugality.   “Honestly I’m just psyched I get to wear some Winchester plaid,” I grin and he smiles back as he tucks one side of his hair behind his ear.

“Just come grab some breakfast when you’re showered or whatever.” 

“I will, thanks Sam.”  He takes his leave, disappearing down the corridor with those long strides as we watch him go. 

A nice, long shower seems like a great idea.

**I can use my grace to –**

No, Cas, you need to keep as much of that as you can.  Besides, I like showers, whether they’re needed or not.  I’ll bet the water runs hotter here than at home, too.   

**Very well.**  That settled Castiel leads us back to the bathroom we visited last night, plaid shirt still in hand, and as soon as the door is shut behind us he proceeds to strip. 

So, do you reckon Dean will be ok confronting the dungeon douchebag?   Heaven knows the Scribe of God is hardly anyone’s favourite person.  I can’t say I’d blame Dean for losing control; he did kill him after all.

**He won’t be alone.  Sam and I will ensure that Dean resists the Mark’s influence.**

I guess.  At least Cas sounds certain enough, though I can’t help but wonder what Dean would make of a five foot nothin’ waif like me trying to hold him back.    

As soon as he turns on the faucet hot water comes spilling out and clatters against the porcelain tub at high pressure, and when Cas climbs into the stream it feels _wonderful_ against my skin.  He promptly wets my hair into a sopping dark trail down my back, fingertips applying careful pressure against my scalp, and then picks up the only bottle loitering on the side.  It’s typical that two bachelors living alone would only have a generic shower gel to use for both their hair and bodies, but I’d really thought Sam would have some kind volumising shampoo or something, with glorious locks like his.  Still, at least the frothing liquid Cas is lathering up between my hands smells nice, if a little manly. 

I hum a tune out loud as Cas rubs me squeaky clean, both efficient and thorough.  I never have been able to take a shower without humming at the very least, and it’s rather pleasant just standing here letting someone else do all the work, enjoying the gentle brush of hands over my body.  It’s easy to forget that they’re mine and it isn’t until Cas starts cupping my soapy breasts, touching and kneading them in a way that _definitely_ doesn’t follow showering etiquette, that I start to pay more attention to what he’s doing.

“Cas… do you mind?” I say quietly, unable to hide my embarrassment when my nipple instantly hardens from the firm attention it’s being given by my thumb.

**I’ve never had a female vessel before, Olivia, I am admittedly curious.**   Well, at least he’s honest about it.  **This is… unexpectedly pleasurable.** He continues to manipulate the modest swell of my chest, only pausing to roll and tweak a sensitive nub between a thumb and forefinger so sharply that I gasp, completely at the mercy of my own hands.  **Your body is very responsive; I do not recall Jimmy ever reacting in this way to such stimulation.**

“Do you always make a habit of fondling your vessels?” I question breathlessly, amused and aroused all at once.

**I will stop if you wish?** His ministrations cease for a moment, unmoving over the soft mounds of flesh that give so pliantly under my palms, and Cas doesn’t need to me to speak out loud to know that I’m surprisingly fine with what he’s doing.  It feels _far_ too good to go telling him to stop. 

We both fall silent, my hands roaming unrestrainedly under Cas’ control as the water pitter-patters around us, muffling the sound of my heavy breathing.  One petite hand abandons a breast to slide its way down my glisteningly wet stomach, heading for the apex of my thighs, and when he presses his first touch there there’s a pleasant jolt that hits us both simultaneously. 

His hand is infuriatingly inexperienced, sliding around my wet folds as he tries to find his way around my female anatomy and failing.  If it weren’t so damn adorable that he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing I’d end up huffing in frustration, but instead I find myself mentally guiding him; left, right, up, no, not that far up!  Finally he hits the sweet spot, and I can tell that he’s pleasantly surprised at just how intense the pleasure unfurling through our shared body is. 

“Yes, keep doing that,” I murmur under my breath, glad that he’s closed my eyes so I can focus solely on the feel of him gliding my finger back and forth over the sensitive nub.  Images start to flicker through my consciousness, impossible to discern whether they’re mine, Cas’ or maybe a mix of both, because they change too quickly and flash like apparitions behind my eyelids.  Cas’ face and his crystalline blue eyes appear, then Dean’s own startling green, full lips on my neck, rough hands on my hips, the scruff of stubble then smooth skin, constantly alternating between the two objects of desire. 

Cas steps one of my feet up onto the side of the bath to allow himself better access, still fondling an over-worked breast in one hand whilst the other comes to its final destination, all other areas fully explored.  He slides a testing, tentative finger inside, quickly following it with a second when he discovers how satisfying it feels to be filled.

**You’re so… warm.  This is –** He cuts himself short when he curls those finger as he slides them back and forth like I’d instructed him to, everything clenching in appreciation.

“Don’t stop,” I urge, and I find myself wishing Castiel was really here in the shower with me, gloriously naked and shiny-slick wet.  I picture his slim, toned physique pressed against me, all narrow hips and obliging, long fingers.  I know if he were really here his devastatingly beautiful eyes would stay locked onto mine as he works me closer to the brink, my fingers moving faster, more insistently,  Castiel as eager as I am for what’s catching fire in my pelvis.

“Fuck!  Fuck, Cas!”  The words come tumbling out of me before I can bite them back, my body’s orgasm hitting us both simultaneously and leaving me all wobbly legged and throbbing between my thighs, panting to catch my breath.

Holy shit, Cas, you’re a fast learner.  Pride blossom in him as he sets my foot back down into the tub and resumes washing me, his curiosity well and truly sated.   

**I suddenly pity the males of your species; having now experienced both I can unequivocally say the female orgasm is superior.**  I can’t help but laugh, glad that I could help him settle an age-old question.  Now we just need to know what hurts more; childbirth or being kicked in the balls.  **And you can do that multiple times?  It hardly seems fair.**

That’s something you’ll have to take up with God, Cas.  

**Should I get the chance I may.** The funniest thing about it all is that he sounds so deadly serious.  I can just imagine him having a solemn heart to heart with his Father about the unfairness of orgasms and whether or not barbs on cat penises are really necessary.  **I have thought more about what you asked last night, Liv.**

“Oh?”  He begins washing between my legs and the whole area is so over-sensitive that I have to remind him to be extra gentle.  “One is more than enough for today, Cas,” I scold when I realise he’s toying with the idea of pursuing those aforementioned multiple orgasms.   That’s just being greedy.

**I realised that I may have not been totally honest with you, or with myself, about my wish to pursue a relationship with Dean.  I believe my desire to have a more… physical relationship with him may have influenced my choice of vessel.**

In what way?

**I’ve been unfortunate enough over time to become familiar with the characteristics that Dean finds attractive in a mate; like your dark hair, for example.  I chose you because I presumed you would be appealing to him.**  I can feel that he’s embarrassed, regretful for planning to use me for me for such a purpose, whether he’d originally intended it or not.   Poor Cas… he’s so desperate to express the love I can feel burning in him for the eldest Winchester.  Six years is a long time to repress feelings he’s so convinced are unrequited; I can’t say I blame him for taking more drastic action. 

He turns off the shower and stands in the tub to drip dry for a while, throwing my hair over my head and squeezing the remaining water out as he waits for the impending wrathful reaction he’s expecting.

Cas, you know I’m happy to help you guys in any way I can.  Getting up close and personal with Dean is hardly a chore, if it’s really what you want. 

**Thank you, Olivia.** Cas steps out of the shower, little puddles of water collecting under my feet on the cold tiles.

What happens afterward though?  This is hardly a permanent solution.  At some point you’re going to have to go back to possessing Jimmy, or come clean with Dean.  I can’t imagine he’ll be too happy about us forgetting to mention that you’re in here. 

**We _can’t_ tell Dean, he’ll never – **

At that moment the bathroom door swings open and none other than the object of Cas’ affection freezes like a statue in the doorway.  Dean’s mouth falls open and his eyes spring wide at the sight of us stood stark naked and beetroot red as I start shouting expletives in my head at Castiel for forgetting to lock the door.  What’s worse is Cas is frozen to the spot too, not even thinking to make a grab for the towel to cover us up. 

**“Dean.”**  The man’s name ghosts out from between my lips, whispered and soft, a complete contrast to the way I’m yelling Cas’ name inside my head to try and kick him into gear.  Dean looks like a rabbit caught in headlights, turning redder and redder but not looking away.  His appraising gaze drifts all over me instead, every hair on my body standing on end.

“Pass me a towel, Dean?” I ask, trying to sound calm and unaffected because let’s face it, why else would I just be standing here with my arms by my sides, letting him look at me the way he is unless I was totally ok with it?  . 

Oh, that’s right, it’s because I have a lovesick Angel at the helm!  I look practically blasé, for God’s sake. 

The sound of my voice seems to finally snap them both out of it, Castiel covering my breasts with an arm and crossing my legs to hide my modesty.  Dean yanks his eyes away too, blinking hard as he scrambles for a towel that he extends it to me as he purposefully turns his head to the side. 

“I… uh… sorry,” he stumbles out as Cas takes the towel and wraps it around me, restoring some of my dignity.  Well, what’s left of it anyway.  “Didn’t realise… the door wasn’t locked.” 

Despite how embarrassing this is I can’t help but notice how adorable Dean looks when he’s rendered so uncharacteristically shy, unable to keep his focus on either the wall or the floor, looking anywhere but at me.  He’s still got his morning bed-head on, his tawny coloured hair a mess and wearing an oversized AC/DC t-shirt that’s obviously slept in. 

“No, sorry, it’s totally my fault,” I assure him, still cursing Cas in my head, “I forgot to lock it… I mean, I’d forget my bloody head if it wasn’t screwed on.”  There’s an awkward pause. 

“I’ll just…” He swivels on the spot, pointing out in the hallway, still unable to meet my gaze.

“No, it’s ok, I’m done, I’m all yours,” I say quickly, stepping toward him and pulling the towel tighter around myself.  It isn’t until Dean slowly turns back around with a disarming smile and a raised eyebrow that I register the words that just came spilling out of my mouth.  “The bathroom!  The bathroom is all yours.  The water pressure is, like, wow, y’know.” 

Dean’s eyes twinkle with amusement, clearly emboldened by my Freudian slip, looking me up and down as his pink tongue moistens his bottom lip.  Of course Dean would never one to turn down such an easy opportunity to flirt.

“I’ll make sure I take advantage then,” he replies smoothly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward into a smile.

**“Please do** ,” Cas replies before I can get a word in, my own voice barely recognisable when it’s so low and… _suggestive._

I shout his name internally, scandalised through and through.  As if Cas, adorably naïve as he is, just came out with something like that. God damn.  Dean looks thoroughly taken aback, his roguish demeanour faltering, and it leaves Cas overflowing with satisfaction.  He practically sashays us out of the bathroom, my cheeks starting to hurt because he’s smiling so hard.

“Cas, what the hell was that?” I whisper to him once we’re back in the safety of our bedroom, the door shut firmly behind us, and even though I’m mortified I’m still struggling not to laugh.  I can’t believe you just did that.  I’ve never been so brazen in my entire life. 

**I’m not sure what came over me.**   **It seemed an appropriate response at the time.**

Well, that’s one way to put it.  That wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined my first time standing naked in front of Dean Winchester. 

**Indeed. There was a lot more nausea than I’d expected.**

Sounds about right. 

* * *

“Hey, look at you!”  Sam exclaims, gesturing toward me as he approaches the long library table with a glass in each hand.  They’re full with to the brim a viscous pink liquid that threatens to slop over the sides as he places them down, still smiling cheerfully at me.  I’d had to make some alterations to the shirt he’d given me, rolling it and tucking it into a crop top that I’ve tied in a bow at the front, rolling the sleeves up to the elbows too; they’d have just been dangling over the ends of my hands otherwise. 

“I made it work,” I say with false immodesty and a grin, Cas sitting us opposite Sam at the table. 

“Yeah, no, it looks good,” he agrees, hazel eyes flicking down to the table then back up to me when he clears his throat.  “I made some extra smoothie, if you want some.  Or you can have something greasy with Dean whenever he drags his sorry ass out of bed.”  The fruity mush does smell appealing so Cas extends my hand to take an offered glass gratefully. 

“I think I’ll opt out of a heart attack today!”  Castiel grants me a sip as Sam watches on expectantly and I’m glad to report that it tastes better than it looks, the flavour of strawberries and raspberries deliciously sweet on my tongue.  “That’s _so_ good.”

“It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who’s not averse to a little fresh produce from time to time,” he smiles, clearly referring to his brother’s preference for ‘warrior’ food, a category that I’m pretty sure doesn’t include fresh fruit smoothies with what I’m pretty sure is an after note of vanilla essence.   

Sam pulls his laptop closer to him, soon absorbed in whatever it was he was reading before I arrived, his face the picture of concentration as he clicks and scrolls, the slightest of frowns creasing his sun-kissed forehead. 

At first both Cas and I are both content to sit sipping our smoothie in comfortable silence, but the longer we sit there the more Cas’ thoughts start to run away with themselves, making the Angel increasingly restless, shifting in our seat. 

**“Sam, have you heard from Claire?”** Sam’s face pops up from over the screen, his confusion evident, and I hurry to explain.

“I saw what happened… with her and Randy.  It was on TV the night before I got here.”  His eyebrows lift in surprise, mouth falling open but no words coming out as he figures out that that must mean I saw what Dean did, too.  “I feel bad for her.”

**“She thought he was kind, and for that she loved him.  It shows how little kindness there was in her life.”** The guilt that washes over Cas is almost unbearable to feel even second-hand; he’s so full of regret for what taking Jimmy as a vessel did to the Novak family, with how little it’s left for Claire to hold dear. 

Cas, you really tried to do the right thing.  That Randy guy, all he did was use her. 

**“Whatever Randy did, he didn’t deserve– “** Sam looks visibly pained by Cas’ reminder of Dean’s transgression, his frown becoming deeper, more severe, smoothie and laptop long forgotten. 

“No, yeah, I know, I know.  I hear you.  Dean has had to kill before.  We both have.  But that was–“

“That was what?”  Dean’s voice interrupts and Sam rises from the table, surprised, casting guilty looks my way at being caught out discussing his brother with an almost-stranger. 

“Dean,” he begins, but the older man cuts him off with a shake of his head, approaching the table with a stern expression.

“That was a massacre, that’s what it was.”  He looks from Sam to me, and I swear his face softens a little when his eyes meet mine, as if the memory of our earlier encounter helps to soothe some of the negativity that’s overflowing inside him.  “There was a time I was a hunter, not a stone-cold killer.”  Sam’s expression is as troubled, as is Cas, so I’m sure my face must look pretty grim too.  Is that really all Dean thinks he is now?  A cold-blooded murderer? 

“You can say it.  You’re not wrong.  I crossed a line.  This thing has got to go.”  Dean pushes up the sleeve of his right arm to reveal the Mark, an ugly blemish defacing his skin and burying itself deeper than any of us can outwardly see.

**“That won’t be easy.”** Dean pulls his eyes from the Mark back to me, to Cas, frustration contorting his features.  

“Then we’ll burn it off, cut it off!” he exclaims, his voice rising in volume, the fear of losing himself to the Mark’s influence ringing through loud and clear.

“Dean, I really don’t think it’ll be that easy,” I say gently, “It’s more than just some shitty tattoo.”  His shoulders slump, hopelessness replacing anger, eyes falling to the floor.  “You’re stronger than that Mark, you know.  I know it… Sam knows it.  Cas knows it too.”  Dean looks back up to me, his jaw clenching, something flickering in his eyes at the mention of his ‘absent’ Angel.  He so wants the words I’m saying to be true; I can see the desire to believe wrestling with his own self-loathing.  Unfortunately it’s all too easy to guess which part of him wins. 

“It needs to go,” he reiterates, softer this time. 

“Dean, we’ve been through the Lore...” Sam tells him with a gentle shake of his head.

“So we look further back.  We’ve got something that pre-dates the Lore, and the demon tablet.”  Dean and Sam exchange a meaningful look that fills both Cas and I with apprehension; we both know what’s coming.  “I think it’s time for that chat.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**“Dean, you know you don’t need to be part of this.  Sam is more than capable of making Metatron talk.”**  We’re loitering in the corridor adjacent to the dungeon’s secret entrance, waiting for the right moment to enter.  The whole time we’ve been here Cas has been trying to talk Dean out of engaging with the Scribe, but it’s no use; Dean looks restless, eager to get to it, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed and his steel-capped toes tapping against the floor. 

“How are you so ok with all this?” he suddenly asks, fixing me in a questioning stare that’s impossible to avoid.  “Angels.  Demons.  Sammy and me having a guy tied up in there _._ Yours isn’t exactly a normal reaction.”  Cas gives a lame shrug to fill time as I struggle to think of an answer, so Dean takes the opportunity to continue.  “We should be figuring out a way to send you home, not getting you more involved than you already are.”  We shrug again, exhaling a heavy sigh. 

“I know watching the show isn’t even nearly the same as being here… as really living it.  But I’ve seen everything you’ve seen. Every big bad you’ve gone up against, every time you and Sam have beaten the odds, beaten _death_ ,” I tell him, trying my best to explain from my spot against the opposite wall.  I feel like I know them, better than I know some of my so-called friends back at home, as difficult as that might be for Dean to understand. 

“All the more reason you should be getting the hell out of here and away from us, from me, as fast as you can.”  His jaw clenches as he rearranges his folded arms, pulling them tighter across himself like a shield.  I want to reach over and wrap those strong arms around me instead, slot into the space underneath his chin, against his chest, to hold him and let him know he’s not in this alone, and I can feel how desperately Cas wants that too. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Dean,” I tell him softly, and without me even having to encourage him Castiel pushes us up off the wall and begins a slow and cautious approach. 

“You should be,” he warns, watching me with all the unpredictability of a cornered animal.  “You saw what I did to Randy… those men.” 

**“That was the Mark, not you.”**

“Same thing,” Dean scoffs, disgusted with himself, turning his head to the side and pressing his eyes closed for the briefest of moments, overcome by the memory. 

“Dean, how can you not see how _good_ you are?”  I ask, barely two steps away, so close that I can almost smell the scent of the shower gel that’s lingering on us both.  He gazes at me again, that guarded look gone, replaced with something vulnerable and raw, his pale jade eyes wide and red-rimmed.  “Everything you’ve ever done, you’ve done to protect the people you love.  You’ve given up so much.”  Another step closer, voice dropping to a whisper.

**“It would take much more than this,”** Cas bravely reaches out and curls our fingers around Dean’s forearm, the Mark hot beneath them, **“To make the people who love you lose faith in you, Dean, to doubt your goodness.”**  Dean looks down at our hand, a loving touch covering a hateful scar, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down before finally meeting our gaze again.

Our heart is pounding, practically light-headed from the potent combination of both mine and Cas’ emotions.  We’re both a mess of anticipation, of longing, Castiel’s heart soaring at being able to touch Dean so tenderly and not have him recoil as he’s always feared.

“Who _are_ you?”  Dean mumbles out, his eyes searching ours for an answer that he won’t find. 

Before he can look too deeply, and before he can lean in that little bit closer to bridge the gap between us, Sam’s voice comes echoing out from the next room.  It breaks the moment, the electric charge in the air dissipating and so too the magnetic pull between us, between him and Cas.

A dark look settles over Dean’s face as soon as he takes Sam’s cue, and it’s as though his whole demeanour changes as Cas unwillingly relinquishes our hold and takes a step back, watching Dean stalk around the corner and into Metatron’s eye line.  Castiel moves to follow him immediately, our feet carrying us without trace of the hesitation I feel inside.  I’ll admit that I’m a little frightened, our pulse fluttering nervously in our throat.  I know all too well what Metatron is capable of; I can still picture Dean’s latest brush with death far more easily than I’d like.  I don’t think I’ve cried that hard in a very long time.

**Sam and Dean won’t let anything happen to you.  Neither will I.**

“Dean,” Metatron greets with a sly smile, “Good to see you up and about.”  Dean doesn’t bother with a reply, just joins Sam’s side without taking his eyes from the Scribe, his posture and silence menacing enough.  “And who’s this?” he enquires with delighted curiosity, his intelligent eyes falling on us where we loiter in the shadows. 

**“I’m not who you should be concerned with, Metatron,”** Castiel answers for me, our voice coming out with a braveness I certainly don’t feel.  It’s strange that I should feel so intimidated by this… weasel of a man, chained as he is to a chair.  I suppose appearances are deceiving, though.  Metatron has more than enough proved that he is capable of terrible things. 

“Well… aren’t you interesting?” Metatron breathes thoughtfully, inspecting us in a way that leaves me feeling violated, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile as he does.  “Won’t Castiel be joining us?” he asks suddenly, his look becoming pointed, that smile stretching wider.

Shit, Cas, he knows.  Shit. 

Cas shakes our head in a warning to him, the gesture so small that it goes easily unnoticed by the two brothers who have their backs turned to us.

“You know what, screw the Mark.  Let’s just kill him,” Dean snaps, his temper already stretched thin.   It serves to distract the Scribe, drawing his eyes from us to Dean, but even though his gaze has moved on both Cas and I throb with anxiety.  One word from him and we’d be found out. 

“Boy, he really is a mess.  Who knew the Mark would be so toxic,” Metatron observes, attempting to sound empathetic but his tone quickly morphing into something more akin to delight, “Well, actually, I did.”  God, and he looks so smug.  It’s no wonder Dean looks less than impressed; I’m tempted to wipe that grin off his face myself.  “You know that it’s going to own you sooner than later.” 

**“You’re wrong,”** Castiel interjects before he can help himself and Sam glances over his shoulder to us from where he’s perched on the corner of the table, the look he’s giving conveying the same message I’m trying to give Cas.   

Settle down.  Let them handle it. 

“Yeah, so how do we get rid of it?”  Sam asks, turning back to the curly-haired man whose eyes are flickering between the two of us.

“What, just like that social hour’s over?”

“Yes,” Sam huffs impatiently, “And now we’re moving on to our key note speaker.”  He extends his hands toward Metatron, offering him the floor, appealing to his ego and love of his own voice. 

“Which is you.  With _us_ asking the questions,” Dean tells him, voice hard as he starts to pace closer to Metatron, like a predator stalking prey, “And me taking the personal pleasure of carving the answers out of you.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, badass!”  It sickens me to agree with Metatron’s sentiments but I do, glancing nervously at the back of Sam’s head.  He won’t let Dean do anything stupid, will he?  Surely Dean knows how much trouble it’d get Cas into if anything happens to their prisoner… “Lighten up!  Why do you just assume I’m not gonna be helpful?” 

“Because you’re a dickwad,” I pipe up, immediately regretting calling attention to myself when he looks back to us.  I really shouldn’t antagonise him, not with what he knows.

“Ok, you, _young lady_ , I’ve never even met before, so I hardly think that’s fair,” he directs to us before he turns his attention back to the boys, looking back and forth between Sam and Dean imploringly, “You two, though, I have a special place in my non-heart for you both. To which end – ta-daa! I’d be tickled to help you pop this biblical zit.  To do it, you are gonna need one specific thing. ” 

The relief is clear on Dean’s face; that much is obvious even from where I’m stood, but I just can’t put my faith in this jackass.  He’s trying too hard, looking too innocent, too delighted by the next words that come from his mouth. 

“Your old bud – the First Blade.”  Our stomach drops unpleasantly at his words, Cas shifting our weight from one foot to the other anxiously as Metatron looks meaningfully at Dean, drinking in his reaction and laughing at the haunted look he’s put on the handsome hunter’s face, Sam breathing,

“What?” 

**He can’t.  We can’t expose Dean to the First Blade again.**

Yeah, Cas, that’s kind of obvious. 

“As I said, ain’t life a bitch,” Metatron grins, his eyes fixed on Dean, relishing in the internal struggle he’s started within him.  The Mark’s desire for the Blade at war with Dean’s gut instincts that tell him that that weapon is better off kept well out of his reach. 

He turns his back to Metatron without another word, practically running out of the dungeon with Sam following close behind. 

“Oh, and don’t worry sweetheart,” I hear Metatron say as Cas immediately turns to follow after them, pausing to look over our shoulder at his words, “I won’t breathe a word about your Angelic co-host.  I’m intrigued to see how this little love story plays out.”    Cas slowly swivels on the spot, fixing the Scribe in a severe stare.  Metatron’s grin just grows because he knows that he’s getting under our skin, and I can feel the Castiel’s temper frothing up hot inside and threatening to boil over, my own following close behind. 

“And it is a love story, isn’t it?” he continues, poking and prodding with his words, “Castiel and his righteous man.  I wonder how Dean would feel about being cast as the Juliet to your Romeo?”  He folds his hands in his lap and shrugs impishly, casting his eyes heavenward for a moment.  “Still, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him right?  Very honourable, Castiel, very morally sound.”  

Cas’ temper finally shatters.   He launches our body forward with a speed I didn’t know I possessed and grabs Metatron by the lapels of his jacket with our tiny hands, lifting him, chair and chains and all from the floor until we’re eye to eye.  Holy shit, I am _strong_.

**“You _dare_ to talk to me about honour, about morality!” ** Castiel growls, our breath huffing out too fast, too harshly as we fail to rein ourselves in.  The bemused chortles that were coming from Metatron’s lips are finally silenced, his expression turning mockingly sheepish when confronted with our conjoined wrath. 

“Get this straight, you little shitbag.”  Our fingers are trembling and so are our arms, our whole body is, in fact, but it’s not from the effort of holding Metatron aloft.  No, it’s not from exertion but rage.

**“You odious worm.”**

“You’re not going to say a fucking word to Dean.  To anyone.”  Metatron’s eyes flicker back and forth between our own, all the bravado and smarminess starting to fade as he comes to realise just how serious I am.  “You killed off my favourite character, buddy,” I hiss, Castiel twisting our mouth into a hateful smile, “So I’m just _waiting_ for you to give me an excuse.  I’ll take responsibility for all of it; every slice, every gouge, every limb severed from your pathetic little body, and I know people will be _cheering_ for me back home.” 

Metatron’s mouth opens and shuts, unable to find the words that usually come so easily to him, and it gives me great satisfaction to see him floundering like a fish; a satisfaction that rings true from Cas, too. 

**“I wouldn’t mess with her, Metatron,”** Castiel warns, the edge of my voice becoming laced with dark humour.   He finally relinquishes our hold on the Scribe, thumping him back onto to the dusty floor so hard that his binding chains rattle, chair creaking.  He casts one last disgusted glance at the curly-headed man who looks to the floor, and our fierce expression gradually morphs into a smile of grim satisfaction as we take our leave of the dank, dark room.   

What a sight that must have been; a five-foot chick in a crop-top going off of the deep end, drunk on the divine power she’s siphoning off from the Angel on board.  It was a rush, I’ve got to admit, one that I’m paying for now all that adrenaline is wearing off I’m left with weak knees and a pounding heart.  Castiel pauses, leaning us against that same wall as before so that we can catch breath.

**I’m not sure that was wise.**   Now that all the red mist is subsiding Cas is starting to second guess what we did in there, and I honestly can’t say I blame him. 

No, me neither.  I don’t regret it though; wiping that smile off his face was too good. 

**We have enough homicidal tendencies to concern ourselves with, Liv, without adding our own.**

Please, you know I’m all bark and no bite.

We start to walk again, heading towards the library to begin our search for Sam and Dean. 

And what a bark, by the way.  I’ll bet that’s what those guys that get all hopped up on steroids feel like.  A quiet laugh from Cas makes it way out from between dry lips as he shakes our head, twisting and turning down corridors. 

**He should certainly think twice about revealing us now.**

Damn straight. 

When we first enter the library I almost don’t spot Sam’s lonely figure slumped low over a table.  He’s got his elbows on the table with his head in his hands, fingers twisted anxiously in his dark hair, and as we approach him his shoulders rise and fall from a heavy sigh. 

“Hey, you ok?”  I ask gently.  Sam’s head snaps up, caught off guard, and he pushes his hair back and lets out a breathy laugh, smiling the weakest of smiles. 

“Er… honestly?  Not so much.” 

**“Where’s Dean?”**  Castiel questions and Sam’s eyes fall to the table, the corner of his mouth tugging upward again.

“Probably numbing himself out with Metallica or something.”  That sounds about right.  Cas takes up the seat next to him, still peering concernedly at the youngest Winchester.  I often forget how hard all this must be for Sam.  He is ‘sane one’ this season after all, no demon blood, soul perfectly intact, just Sam, and that must be a lot of pressure on his broad shoulders.  “Where did you disappear to anyway?”  he asks after a moment.

“Oh,” I hesitate.  Honestly I’d hoped our absence would go unnoticed but apparently not, and I struggle to think of a valid excuse to cover up the fact I was threatening to disembowel someone as soon as their backs were turned, “All that kinda… shook me up, y’know?  Had to just… take five.” 

“Sorry,” he apologises immediately, “I should’ve thought, Liv, sorry, we should’ve kept you out of that.”  Cas shakes our head, giving a little smile that hints at his amusement. He knows just how far from a helpless, wilting flower I really am.  It renders Sam’s concerns pretty moot, but the absolute sincerity of his expression as his bright eyes give me a cursory once over to check I’m still in one piece is still very sweet. 

“Don’t worry about me Sam, we’ve got bigger fish to fry,” I dismiss casually.  “What did Dean say about… the First Blade?”  I can barely bring myself to name it, knowing how much weight that just the mention of that object carries.  A look of frustration immediately takes the place of concern on Sam’s face and he huffs heavily, shifting in his seat.

“We’d barely left the room and he was already arranging a meet up with Crowley later tonight to try and get it back,” he tells me, his mouth moving around the words as if they taste as disgusting as they sound.  Castiel immediately stiffens in our seat, bristling with anxiety. 

**“I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but-“**

Panicking isn’t going to help anyone right now, Cas, Sam knows what a bad idea this is already. 

“I am so not on board with this whole bromance thing those two have got going on,” I say firmly, silencing Cas for now. “Demon Dean was a shitfest.”  Despite being bleak in mood Sam laughs anyway, giving his head a shake.

“Yeah, well, like it or not now he’s got it in his head that this is step one to the solution, and with that Mark he can’t see that this is possibly the single worst idea we’ve ever had.”  A shake of his head again, fists clenching and unclenching on the table top.

“Oh I’m not sure, you guys have had a few,” I chuckle, “What’s one more?”  Again he laughs, pushing his hair back from his face so I get a glimpse of his cheeks dimpling.  “Maybe Crowley will say no anyway?”  Sam scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“And turn down his bestie?  Yeah, no, I wish that he would, but somehow I think he’ll be more than happy to be Dean’s errand boy.”  Ugh.  

I’ll admit I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for Crowley; all that human blood seems to have softened him into a much more lovable figure as of late, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let Sam know.       

**You do recall that Crowley is the King of Hell, yes?**  

Damn it, Cas, I’d almost forgotten you were here.

“Anyway, let’s give this spell a shot, see if we can get you safely home before we set off the end of the World,” Sam says with a wry smile, rising from his seat as I laugh, “Again.”

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for Sam to dig out his records of the Sigil used for the Winchester’s brief dalliance between realities, and even less time for him to find and mix the three ingredients required; Dead Sea brine, lamb’s blood and the bones of a lesser saint.  It’s a perk of being a Men of Letters legacy, Sam says, having such a full larder to raid.

I know it won’t work, Castiel keeps reassuring me to that effect, but I’m still a little nervous as I watch Sam smear the gut-turning mixture on the wall.

“You’re not going to ask me to throw myself through a window, are you?”

“Nothing quite so dramatic,” Sam grins, wiping the dark red goop from his fingers onto a kitchen towel he’d brought along.  As he does, and as Cas and I are smiling, I’m suddenly aware of the feeling of eyes on our back.  Cas turns, and sure enough Dean is stood in the doorway with his arms folded, his head leant against the frame.

“Thought I’d better say goodbye, just in case you end up back in Kansas.”

“There’s no place like home,” I quip, and even though he looks tired, exhausted in fact, he manages as small smile. 

I guess saying goodbye and _trying_ to make it look like I don’t know that this is destined for failure is probably a smart idea.

“It’s been good to meet both of you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Sam replies, opening his arms to give me a brief hug with a gentle squeeze that Castiel takes a beat to properly relax into.  He smells like warm vanilla and leather-bound books, and don’t get me wrong, it’s not like Cas is stood here smelling him, but when our face barely meets the top of his chest it’s sort of unavoidable.

“Can I keep the shirt?” I ask facetiously as Cas withdraws and Sam just laughs, nodding his head.

“You stay out of trouble,” Dean warns from where he’s still lurking on the periphery. 

“You too,” I reply with a kind smile that he mirrors back.  Sam places a hand on my shoulder to guide me over to the Sigil, explaining what I need to do, but Castiel resists it, still gazing at Dean.

**“Do I not get a farewell from you too, Dean?”** he asks with a deadpan seriousness that makes me snigger inside.

Anything to get your hands on the goods, huh Cas?

Dean falters, his eyes darting back and forth between Sam and I.  It feels as though a long time passes as he makes up his mind, Cas waiting with bated breath, and then eventually Dean leaves the doorway and crosses the threshold to us.  He pauses again when he’s but a step away, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You know how I feel about chick flick stuff.”  Apparently Cas didn’t get that memo, though, because as soon as his muscular arms are wide enough the Angel is throwing himself into them with such enthusiasm that it knocks all the wind out of the broad hunter.

Cas slings our arms around his hips and holds on tight, closing our eyes and practically _nuzzling_ our cheek into Dean’s chest, who I can feel tentatively hugging me back.  He feels a little stiff, in all honesty, but I suppose as far as he’s concerned I’m just some random woman he’s only just met; one he hasn’t even been that friendly do. 

Pull it back, Cas.

**“I have every faith in you, Dean,”** Castiel murmurs into his chest, quietly enough so that only the three of us hear. 

Yeah, ok, so he’s not pulling it back.

Dean does relax a little in our grip, though, a soft exhale releasing what was holding his muscles so tight. 

“Don’t go leaving anymore doors unlocked,” he advises, humour colouring his voice right before he plants a fleeting kiss on the top of my head.  Cas, bless him, practically melts on the spot, the joy from the most innocent press of Dean’s lips bubbling over and into me like a million butterflies taking flight in our stomach.

“That sounds like good advice,” I reply for Cas, who seems to have been rendered mute but is making us smile up at Dean like a moron as he disentangles himself.

**He smells like my Father’s forests and the machinery of Man.**

God, Cas, you are such a _girl._

**I have never understood why being female seems to be considered an inherently negative thing with you humans.**

Under Sam’s instruction we take our place next to the Sigil and wait patiently as he recites some Latin words that I don’t even try to understand.  Besides, Cas is preoccupied with staring at Dean who is staring right back from where he’s leant again a table with his arms folded. 

As Sam nears the end of the incantation Cas lifts one of our small hands in a wave.  It’s missed by the taller of the two, his nose practically buried in the book, but it was never meant for him anyway.  Dean clocks it though, with those pretty green eyes, and he ever so slightly lifts the fingers of one hand to wave back, a bemused sideways smile lighting up his face.  And, ok, this time he has both Cas and I swooning. 

Sam utters the last few words and thankfully we’re not too busy ogling as to miss our cue.  Castiel places our hand directly onto the Sigil and I find myself bracing for something, just in case.  Nothing happens though, just as Cas had said.  Sam shuts the book with a snap and a puzzled frown.

“Well, that was an epic failure,” Dean comments, adding to his brother’s displeasure.  Castiel can barely hold back his smile.

**“Oh.  Shoot.”**


	6. Chapter 6

Dean declines our invitation to come to the local mini-mall – “I’m all stocked up on pink satin panties, thanks.” – so it’s just Sam and I that end up climbing into the Impala and hitting the road.  And Cas too, obviously.

“So this is Baby, in the flesh,” I say admiringly once we’re out on the open road where she can really stretch her legs.

“The one and only,” Sam confirms with a smile, his fingers tightening around the leather-bound steering wheel.  It’s so easy to forget that the Impala has been a mobile home to Sam for years too, and though he doesn’t lovingly caress the shift stick in quite the same way as Dean you can tell he cares for her. 

Watching him drive makes me think of my own odd situation; the way I’m being driven around, a meat-vehicle for Cas.  It suddenly seems a strangely appropriate to compare myself to the Impala. 

Cas, you know when Sam was a vessel for Gadreel?  When he was like, in there but Sam didn’t know?  Cas turns our head to look at Sam again.  He’s otherwise occupied, eyes fixed on the road while a long-fingered hand messes with the radio dial, no doubt searching for a station that plays anything more recent than the hits of the 1970’s. 

**I recall it, yes.**

Is there a way we can do that?  I feel a flash of hurt and concern flare up on Cas’ end, and I mentally scramble to explain, not wishing to offend.  I’m not saying I don’t like having you around Cas, I do, I just thought it might give you a rest.  It’d be kind of nice not to sit like a dude _all_ the time, too.  The guys are gonna start thinking I’m butch or something.  Sure enough when Cas glances down to our lap I’m sat with our knees open, thighs far enough apart to accommodate junk that I definitely don’t have.

**You’ll alert me when we’re back to the bunker?**  Back to Dean?  He doesn’t need to say it but the message is loud and clear.

Of course.

**Very well.  Enjoy your… alone time.**

Thanks Cas.

And then he’s disappeared, gone, like he was never there in the first place, and it’s disconcerting to say the least.  I poke and probe around my mind, trying to feel _something_ from Cas, but there’s nothing.  No wonder Sam had no idea Gadreel was there.

I realise, then, that I was the one who just turned my head to look at the youngest Winchester whose chestnut hair has a halo of gold from the setting sun.  A spontaneous smile breaks loose on my face, delighted by how freeing it feels to rotate my head around as far as my neck will allow, how good it feels to raise my arms above my head and stretch out like a cat in my seat. 

I catch Sam glancing at me with a bemused smile, lingering slightly on my exposed navel before turning his eyes back to the road.

“So you said you worked in a care home?” he asks, clearly feeling the need to make small talk. 

“Yeah… for a couple years now,” I reply, finally crossing my legs and restoring some illusion of femininity.  “I help look after people with disabling conditions; paraplegics, severe cerebral palsy, things like that.  I’m just a care assistant, though, not a nurse.” 

“That must be hard work,” he comments.

“Not as hard as yours,” I smile and his cheeks dimple as he smiles back, glancing my way.

“Maybe, you’re still helping people though.  Less moral ambiguity too I bet.” 

“Very true,” I chortle, nodding my head.  Yeah, somehow helping Dennis, one of my favourite residents, pick out what colour socks to wear just doesn’t carry the same gravity as the choices the Winchesters often face.

“Is there going to be anyone worrying about you back home?”  Sam asks, innocently enough, but the question makes my stomach fall unpleasantly.

“Not unless you count my Landlord,” I joke, trying to make light of the sad reality that in all likelihood no-one will even realise I’m gone until I fail to show up for work, “I’m pretty sure she’ll just think this is another scheme to avoid paying my rent.”  Sam gives a smile that’s as weak as mine, one that I might think was genuine if it weren’t for his forehead crinkling in concern.  I decide to cut that conversation short before he can start to ask _why_ I’m so dismally lonely.  “Which is a point, actually.  I didn’t really think to bring any cash with me.”  I pat the pockets of my jeans to demonstrate my lack of spare change, and this time Sam does laugh.

“Nothing a little credit card fraud can’t fix,” he assures and I smile with barely contained glee, practically bouncing in Baby’s seat.  He so needs to teach me how to do that before I head home.  Some retail therapy is long, long overdue. 

* * *

 

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” I smile over my shoulder to Sam who’s laden down with the bags he’d insisted he would carry.  No doubt he’s regretting being so chivalrous now, having almost fallen down the bunker stairs once or twice already, plastic swinging round his ankles and getting tangled up as he dodges the bags as best he can. 

“Hear that Dean?” Sam calls playfully to his brother who is sat nursing a beer at the war-table, watching as we clamour down the staircase noisily, “When’s the last time you gave a woman this kind of satisfaction?” I guffaw a laugh as Sam grins at Dean, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief and merriment as we come to the bottom of the stairs.  

I’ve seen such a different side to Sam this afternoon; I’d always thought Dean was the funny and playful one of the two, but it turns out Sam can be just as silly if given the chance.  We had a really nice time together, actually, acting like normal people.  Hell, we even stopped for frozen yoghurt ("Ice cream is just basically frozen sugar and fat, you know that right?").  

Dean smirks and huffs out a laugh, focusing his gaze on the label he’s picking off his beer bottle. 

“She’s faking,” he teases, the corner of his mouth still quirked into a smile, “Doesn’t wanna hurt your feelings.” 

“I’ve done no such thing!” I insist vehemently, placing my hands on my hips and raising an eyebrow to Dean who pays it no mind, undeterred by both mine and Sam’s matching bitch faces.  “Is that what all the girls have to do with you, Dean?  Is that how you know?”  I jape back. 

“Hey!” Dean barks, sliding the bottle away and sitting up straighter in his seat, scowling like I’ve just insulted him in the worst possible way.  “Dean Winchester gets the job done, every time.” 

“Oh Dean!” Sam croons from besides me, hitching his voice upward in pitch and tilting his head backward in a mock expression of ecstasy. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Dean glowers at his brother as we both fall into peals of laughter, Sam abandoning the bags to the floor as I clutch onto his arm and my stomach.  By the time I’ve collected myself enough to open my eyes again Dean’s lost the battle against his own amusement, leant against the table watching us with a fond smile.  I guess he must be glad to see Sammy having fun too; it makes a nice change.  “Freaks, both of you.”

“Whatever man,” Sam dismisses with good humour. 

I collect the bags from where they’ve slumped together and haul them onto the table behind Dean with much effort on my part.  Sam made it look easy but they’re actually pretty heavy; stuffed full of denim, thick cotton shirts, warm hoodies and hard-wearing boots.  There’s the odd pretty thing but when it’d come down to it I’d figured practicality was the important thing, no matter how tempting halter-neck sparkly dresses may be. 

“Anything from Cas?”  Sam questions as he grabs the bottle of water he’d bought from his coat pocket and then takes a swig.

Shit, Cas.  I’d almost forgotten about him completely, so neatly hidden away inside.  Cas, hey, come on out to play.

“Zero,” Dean replies, and even looking at him from the back I can see how tense his shoulders are, can see the way he’s gripping the edge of the table tight. 

**I’m here Liv.**

It was getting a little lonely in here without you!  I can feel how that amuses and pleases him, a warm glow of positive emotion seeping across from his consciousness to mine. 

“He’s about as useful as Captain Hook at a gynaecology convention.”  That happiness is cut short by Dean’s scathing words, hurt slicing through Cas and leaving him gloomy.  Perhaps not being able to understand pop-culture references was actually a good thing, while it lasted. 

“Ew,” Sam remarks, wrinkling up his nose in displeasure.  Yeah… I could have done without that mental image. 

“Anyway,” Dean continues, exhaling heavily as he pushes up from the table and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair.  His forearm brushes against my side as he does and Cas reflexively stiffens at the contact, excitement from the briefest of touches making my skin prickle all over.  “We gotta make tracks. Heaven forbid we keep the King of Hell waiting.”

“He is oddly particular about punctuality,” Sam muses thoughtfully and Dean grunts his agreement as he shrugs his jacket on, making for the stairs.

Cas starts to follow automatically, shopping bags long abandoned, and it’s only when we start to ascend the stairs after them that they notice we’re in tow. 

“Where’d you think you’re going?” Dean asks with a raised eyebrow, looking me up and down. 

**“To meet with Crowley?”** Castiel questions back and Dean peers over his shoulder to Sam who widens his eyes back at him as if to absolve himself of any responsibility. 

“I think you ought to stay here,” Sam tells us gently, and Cas is not at all amused. 

**“Is it because I have breasts?”** he questions, deadly serious.  Dean’s mouth falls open as fails to resist glancing down to what Cas so bluntly pointed out as his brother is managing to, Sam’s eyes turning upward to the ceiling instead.  **“I’m not incapable simply because I’m female.”** If it weren’t so embarrassing that they think this is coming from _me,_ I’d be laughing right now.  

This is about Dean calling you useless, isn’t it?  Castiel pointedly ignores me, continuing to stare at the brothers who are shuffling an awkward dance on their respective steps under our expectant gaze. 

“It’s not that, Liv, really,” Sam tells me emphatically, eager to not be painted as some kind of misogynist, “It’s just… it’s _Crowley._   He-“

“The less people know you’re here the safer you’ll be,” Dean states firmly, interrupting Sam once he’s finally managed to look away from my chest and into my eyes instead.  I have a feeling Cas’ returning look is a defiant one, but before he gets chance to reply I quickly agree,

“Fine.”

**Olivia! We need to-**

“Be careful, guys.”  Dean gives me a nod while Sam just half-smiles.  They carry on up the stairs and then they’re gone, Cas sullen and sulky as we watch them leave, more akin to a stropping child than a fallen Angel.   It’s deathly quiet once it’s just the two of us, the bunker’s thick walls and doors effectively cutting out any roar that we might have heard from the Impala and the only sound coming from our gentle footsteps as Cas comes dejectedly back down the metal staircase.

Look, I know you want to be there, and I know you’re pissed at me, but they never would have agreed.

**You don’t know that.**  God damn stubborn Angel.

And anyway, if Crowley saw us that’d be _another_ bad guy knowing our secret.  And you know what that sneaky bastard’s like; do you really think Crowley would be able to hold back gossip that juicy?  Every demon and their _mother_ would know. 

Cas stays silent as we collect my bags from the table and stalks toward our bedroom, but I can feel him unwillingly agreeing with me, even if he won’t admit it. 

We can always interrogate them when they get back, roomie.  If we were physically separate right now I’d be hanging myself from his reluctant frame until he finally gave in and hugged me back, forgiven.  I picture it as clearly as I can so I know that he’ll see it too and it has the desired effect, pulling my lips into a small smile that I can tell he’s trying to resist. 

**Fine.**

* * *

“He’s hidden it with his bones?”  I ask as Cas draws our legs up underneath us, our bare feet pointing towards Sam who’s sat at the opposing end of the hard, maroon sofa.  Apparently the Men of Letters went for functionality rather than comfort when selecting their furniture.  

**“Crowley, the one who let the Blade turn Dean into a demon?”** Castiel clarifies, his snarkiness plain to hear.

“Yeah well, you know us,” Dean interjects from the chair he’s draped himself over, an arm and a leg hanging over each padded armrest.  He can’t be comfortable like that but he’s barely moved from that spot since the brothers returned to the bunker, only moving to find some whiskey once his beer had run dry a good half hour ago.  He knocks it back like it’s water, his eyes fixed on the snug’s TV screen, “When we screw ourselves we go the whole hog.”  He smiles bitterly into his tumbler and takes another slug of the poisonous liquid.  I really wish he wouldn’t; the gesture is unpleasantly familiar and makes our stomach twist and burn as if we were the ones drinking it.  

**“Sam, can we really afford to bring the First Blade back into play?”**   Cas appeals, turning our gaze onto the younger, saner Winchester brother who shrugs back helplessly, a frown creasing his brow.

“I don’t have a choice, ’kay? I don’t do this, I’m down the rabbit hole,” Dean insists, his words almost slurring from the inevitable inebriation.  Dean's a hardened drinker, but even he can't remain unaffected after the amount of liquor he's put away.  He finally pulls his eyes from the TV and onto us, their emerald colouring that’s usually so bright now dulled and glassy.  “See evil, do evil…”  He hesitates, frowning hard as his trail of thought slips from his fingers, “’n the other one.  All of it, bad.” 

The three of us stare back at him, Sam, Cas and I, and I’ll bet we’re all feeling the same identical worry for the man who’s so obviously trying to self-medicate against the effects of the Mark. 

“Anyway, can you two shut your pretty pie-holes so I can watch my stories in peace?”  Dean gestures his tumbler toward the TV, whiskey slopping against the glass with the motion. 

“You don’t even like Game of Thrones,” Sam mutters disgruntledly, tapping his fingertips on the arm of the sofa like a nervous tick that he can’t shake. 

“I like the boobies,” Dean grins, turning his head to show off his silly expression for both of us to see, “’Specially that… that white haired chick.”

“The white haired chick?” Sam repeats mockingly, that judgemental look he gives so well directed at his brother in full force.  

“Yeah, y’know, with the dragons,” Dean clarifies, turning his head back to the TV and taking another sip of whiskey.

“I think he means Daenerys Targaryen,” I whisper none too quietly in Sam’s direction.  Despite the fact that Dean’s motor skills are no doubt impaired by the alcohol it doesn’t seem to have been detrimental to his hearing, because on catching my words he points enthusiastically at us. 

“Yes, dragon lady, she’s hot!” he declares loudly and Castiel contorts our features into what can only be described as a sneer of revulsion that he doesn’t even bother to hide; Dean’s too drunk to figure out what it means anyway. 

Just leave it, Cas.  There’s no point talking to him when he’s like this.  Sam clearly agrees because he only huffs in reply, not bothering to further engage Dean either, preferring to turn his attention back to the TV screen. 

**“You’re drinking excessively, Dean,”** Cas informs him, my voice deadpan yet critical. 

You just can’t leave it, can you?  Why, Cas?  Why poke the bear? 

**How is he supposed to fight the Mark when he can’t stand up straight?  Or keep his tongue inside his mouth?** From Cas’ stare I can clearly see what he’s referring to; Dean is still making googly eyes at the pretty young women on the TV whilst purposefully ignoring Castiel’s judgement, and it’s making the Angel seethe with jealousy, that divine wrathfulness flaring up white hot in our veins. 

Or his dick inside his pants?  Again, this is about something else, isn’t it? 

**“Dean,”** he states again, insisting on the man’s attention, and I don’t have to look at Sam to know he’s shifting uncomfortably on his side of the couch, the cushions moving, rising and sagging again under his weight. 

Eventually Dean rolls his head to the side, his eyes following a moment or two behind, his movements slurring as well as his words. 

“Your point?” he enquires, both eyebrows lifting back at us. 

**“You shouldn’t be indulging in mind-altering substances when your self-control is already being tested,”** Cas preaches, not at all hesitant about expressing his disapproval. 

“Oh yeah?”  He blinks hard and then flicks his eyes up and down the length of us in an appraising way, our stomach clenching with excitement. This must be how Dean looks when he’s drunkenly attempting to pick up women at the numerous bars he’s frequented throughout the years.  It’s a good job he’s so infuriatingly handsome or the clumsy way in which he licks his lips would just look a little pathetic to any self-respecting human, or Angel, for that matter.  As it is, Castiel can’t help but focus in on that pretty pink tongue too, pissed off or not.  “What should I be ‘ _indulging’_ in then, sweetheart?”  He shoots us a roguish smile and I feel Sam shift again next to us. 

“Dean, c’mon-“ Sam starts, but Dean shakes his head briskly. 

“No, no, she started this.  She’s the one that being all… judgemental.”  His smile has dropped, defensiveness taking its place as he gesticulates toward us, whiskey slopping out of the glass and onto the floor.  “Ooops,” he chortles, peering down at the dark stain it’s quickly spreading on the carpet and almost tipping out of the chair as he does so. 

And suddenly, without any warning, I look at Dean and all I see in his place is my drunk of a father, falling off the sofa as he spills his scotch onto my carpet with little or no concern for my rental deposit.  I see him laughing, his ruddy face turning even redder, drinking himself into oblivion for the hundredth night in a row.  Pitiful, disgusting, just like Dean looks now. 

“What’s your problem, anyway?”  Dean asks, frowning hard, his voice pulling me back to the here and now, “Why’d you have such a fuckin’ problem with me and Sammy havin’ a good time?”  Castiel glances to the side of us to look at Sam who has both eyebrows raised, his mouth opening but nothing coming out as he tries to soundlessly apologise with his gentle, puppy eyes. 

Now my temper is threatening to overtake Castiel’s.  All that repressed anger saved up for my Father bubbles up like thick black tar inside, oozing its way to the surface more and more for every second that Dean keeps staring at me, challenging me. 

**Olivia-**

“I have no problem with you having a ‘good time’ Dean,” I begin, the words hissing out from behind our clenched teeth and tight lips, “But I know a good time when I see it and I hate to burst your pathetic little bubble but this ain’t it.”  Dean’s frown grows even deeper, surprised, I think, that I’ve bitten and taken the bait.  “What this looks like to me is a frightened kid who’s trying to drown out all the nasty voices that keep telling him he’s not _man_ enough to deal.”

**Liv-**

“And you know what, Dean, if this is how it’s gonna be then you may as well let that fucking Mark have you now, ‘cus this little boy in front of me doesn’t stand a chance.  I’ve watched enough pity parties to last me a lifetime, I don’t need to sit in on yours, too.” 

I need to go, Cas.  Now.  Thankfully he obliges unquestioningly, rising from the sofa and stalking us quickly out of the wooden-paneled room before Dean can say any more, Sam following close behind. 

“Hey, hey,” he beckons, reaching out a long arm and taking hold of our shoulder to turn us on the spot as we pass into the library, firm but gentle all at once.   “Are you alright?”  Sam checks, peering down into our eyes, trying to read our expression.  I’m so thankful that Cas is here right now; I don’t want either of them to see the angry tears that are falling on the inside. 

“Sammy!  Go grab us some pizza!”  Dean calls loudly from the room we just fled, seemingly unaffected by my outburst or else just hiding it really well.   Sam exhales noisily, glancing around us in frustration as he pushes his dark hair back from his face. 

“Can we just… let’s just go get pizza,” I say after a moment as Castiel shrugs our shoulders, “I could do with some air.” 

“Yeah.  Yeah, sure,” Sam agrees, and as he goes to fetch the keys to the Impala I feel Castiel send me what I think is supposed to be a comforting embrace.  It’s warm, anyway, and makes me feel a little better even though I can feel the undercurrent of thoughts from him that tell me I was being needlessly harsh to the man we’re supposed to be helping.  And I know I was, but seeing him like that… I just…

**That wasn’t just about Dean, was it?**     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I'm finding writing this fic a lot harder going than the RPF I've done before! Any encouragement will be very gratefully received; It'd be nice to know people are actually waiting on me to write more. Might serve to motivate me a bit :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the encouragement guys, it was very much needed <3

“You know, I really think this pizza may be just be magnificent enough to salvage our evening yet,” I ponder aloud to Sam as we make our way back towards the snug, The box I’m carrying is almost as big at me, but I’d wanted to carry it anyway; anything to inhale the wonderful smell of melted cheese wafting through the gaps in the cardboard.  And besides, it’s not like it’s too heavy for Cas to manage, big strong Angel that he is. 

“I dunno,” Sam chortles, big bottle of soda tucked under his arm and a carrier bag full of fries in the other hand, “Dean’s _not_ gonna be happy when he finds out you’ve covered everything with extra mushrooms.”

“You seem all these fucks I’m giving, Sam?” I beam back at him, but I mean it far less viciously than before.  The drive to the pizza place with Baby’s windows rolled right down, wind blasting my hair, had done me some good. Sam hadn’t asked about my outburst, probably thinking his brother was somewhat deserving of it, and Cas hadn’t criticised either, for which I’m very grateful.  And as always, my temper is fierce but short; a bit like me in general I guess.

**I understand why you said those things, Liv.**

Yeah… I know.  Cas got the quick low-down of each tragic, dog-eared page in my personal history as soon as he stepped inside my body.  He knows as well as I do why I won’t touch a single drop of liquor, why it stirs such a violent reaction in me to see someone else willingly drown themselves. 

I do get it, though; alcohol is just one of Dean’s coping mechanisms, and when has he ever needed it more than now?  The lives these guys lead… even I can understand why they might be driven to drink.  Still, there’s got to be healthier ways for the eldest Winchester to deal, one that I’m determined to help him find. 

**We’ll find a way.**   Cas sounds so certain, so sure, and though I have belief in Dean I still can’t keep from worrying.  Perhaps it’s an Angelic quality that makes Cas so steadfast in his faith.  

“Dean, I come bearing offerings of peace!” I say as we push the snug door open with our hip. 

Straight away I can feel that there’s something wrong; the TV is still on but Dean is missing, his armchair eerily empty save the tumbler of whiskey that’s resting half-full on the arm.

**“Where’s Dean?”**  Cas asks, my voice coming out panicked.

When Sam’s eyes meet ours I know all three of us are thinking the same thing.  Metatron.

“Shit.” I hear the word tumble out of Sam as he drops his bags and turns to sprint to the dungeon, Castiel roughly discarding the pizza box on the couch and running after him, our frantic steps thudding over the floor tiles. 

Sam is already pounding on the locked door when Cas and I get there just a second later, calling Dean’s name and jiggling the handle, but it’s no good. 

“Dean, open the door!”  Sam insists loudly as we stand back and watch, anxiety coursing through the both of us, our pulse bounding wildly in our neck.  Please don’t let him do anything stupid, please.

**It’ll only make the effects of the Mark worse, the more he succumbs.**

“What is the _next step_?!”  We hear Dean yell from inside, his voice raw and breaking, teetering on the edge of losing all control. 

Sam starts slamming his shoulder into the door as Metatron’s cries of pain begin, and it goes on and on.

“We need to get in there!”  I say aloud, not to Sam who’s trying to kick the door down to no avail, but to Cas.  We need to do _something._

Castiel clenches our fists at our side, fixing our gaze on the door, and I feel something start to stir.  A raw power surges upward from our belly, throbbing as it goes, swelling and intensifying, up through our lungs until it’s hard to breathe.  It overwhelms me, pulling me under, a bright light filling my vision as the pressure inside reaches critical point and inevitably finds a way out. 

This time when Sam throws himself into the door it gives immediately, splintering into thousands of jagged pieces with a little angelic intervention.  He’d put so much weight behind his attempt to break in that he almost falls forward to the floor when it gives way, faltering for a moment when he collects himself, as if surprised by his own strength.  It’s only for a split second though, in the next moment he’s racing forward toward his brother. 

“No, Dean, stop!” Sam’s voice is desperate as Castiel rushes us into the room behind him, and when Sam pulls Metatron’s chair backward to put space between his chest and the tip of the Angel blade pressed against it Cas flings our arms around Dean’s torso.  With our hands splayed across his pectorals, arms looped under his, we’re able to pull him backward despite his initial resistance.  He doesn’t fight me for long, perhaps still too drunk, perhaps realising the error of his actions, but either way he allows himself to be dragged away and pushed against the shelving at the back of the dungeon.  The Angel blade hangs limply at his side, the pointed tip shining with blood, and Dean’s head hangs just as limply as he looks to the floor, breathing hard. 

**“Dean, what were you thinking?!”** Cas questions, but the Hunter stays unresponsive, his eyelids closed tight as if in pain.  He only reacts when Cas places one of our petite hands on either side of Dean’s hips to keep him pressed in place, holding on a little too hard.  He finally looks up, meeting our gaze with a look of helplessness so raw that it stabs at my chest.  Cas can’t help himself; he places one of our palms against Dean’s chiselled cheek.  He doesn’t pull away, on the contrary he leans in, eyes flopping closed again as our thumb rubs back and forth against his stubble, shoulders heaving still as he struggles to regain control. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice comes, questioning, asking so many things in just that one word.

“We’re ok Sam, he’s good, we’re ok,” I call back.  Dean’s eyes open again, the constriction of his pupils sluggish thanks to the effects of the whiskey, and Cas can’t take our eyes off him, staring back but saying nothing.

**That righteous man, living among them day after day, was tormented in his righteous soul…** The scripture Castiel murmurs between us goes way over my head – I never did go to Sunday school - but tormented sounds like a good word for the expression on Dean’s face right now.

“You were killing him,” Sam accuses fiercely, dragging Metatron over by the shoulder to stand behind us.  Again, Dean says nothing.  His eyes do follow our hand when it drops away from his face, though, right before snapping back up keep looking back into my grey.  A loud huff comes from Sam, exasperated and helpless too.  “I have to take him back.  Cas has burned enough bridges in heaven without adding this to the list.”  I feel Castiel’s gratitude as he turns our head to look over our shoulder at Sam with a small smile.  “Are you going to be ok with him?” Sam adds nervously, tipping his head toward Dean who has once again resumed looking at the floor.

**“I will make sure Dean remains unharmed,”** Cas replies without hesitation.  Sam’s lips twist into a half-smile that isn’t really a smile at all, more a communique of ‘that wasn’t really what I was getting at’.

“I’ll be fine,” I add, and this seems to reassure him enough to nod again and start dragging Metatron from the room, ruby red blood still dripping in thick globs from his lips.  He looks a sorry sight, his cheek split open, his chest too, yet I feel no pity for him whatsoever.

“If you ever ask me for help again, I will choose death,” Metatron spits out, “It’s going to get worse Dean, you’re gonna get worse!”  I hear Sam tell him to be quiet, growling idle threats as they round exit from which part of the door still hangs limply on its hinges. 

And then it’s quiet, only the sound of Dean’s ragged breathing cutting the silence. 

Thank God we came home when we did. 

**That could have been much worse had we not have intervened.**

“Dean-“ I start, but my words are cut short when I’m hit with a sudden wave of dizziness.  It comes from nowhere; I felt perfectly fine just a second ago but now our whole body feels weak, eyesight lurching and blurring Dean’s face, unable to focus.  

Cas, what’s happening?!

**I… not sure…**  His voice in our head sounds slurred, that dizziness becoming more profound, a high pitched ringing in my ears getting steadily louder.  I feel our hands grab onto Dean, clutching the front of his shirt as we fall forward, everything turning fuzzy shades of grey.  Grey turns black as I feel solid, warm wrap around us. 

* * *

 

My vision spots and swings as I come to.

“Cas?”  I murmur, trying to pull my eyelids open, disorientated and anxious and oddly in control of my own limbs. 

No reply.  Where is he?  What happened?

I experimentally stretch and bend my legs as my eyesight starts to de-fuzz and they're sluggish but thankfully still work, my sneakers making a scuffing sound along the floor.  The soft, warm something that my back is pressed against suddenly moves in response to the screech a in a slow but exaggerated rise and fall that makes me stiffen in alarm. 

What the hell? 

I blink rapidly and look around the room as best I can whilst keeping my head still, trying to identify my surroundings without alerting the person that’s sat behind me to the fact that I’m awake.  I’ve never been so glad to see the plain white walls and wooden flooring that makes for standard bunker bedroom décor, and I’m even happier – if slightly confused – when I identify the legs that are on either side of mine as belonging to Dean Winchester.  There’s definitely no one else I know whose denim clad legs bow like that. 

He must have carried me in here after I lost consciousness, slumped us both down on the floor next to…

I tilt my head to look up to the bed next to us and my eyes widen in surprise when I realise he’s sat us next to the bed where Jimmy’s prone body lies.  My surprise only continues to grow when my gaze travels the length of Dean’s arm;  it’s resting half on-half off the mattress, dangling with sleepy relaxation from where his fingers are gripping onto Jimmy’s sleeve.  He must have fallen asleep holding onto him… his fingers clutching so tightly onto the white cotton that his knuckles are a similar shade. 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so sweet, so telling as to how much Dean really does care for the Angel.  The fact that he’s sought his comfort even when Cas is absent speaks volumes.  Perhaps that’s the reason Dean’s felt able to do so; thinking that Cas won’t find out that he’s holding onto him like a security blanket.   Only he will, of course, as soon as he comes to too. 

Cas, wake up, you _need_ to see this.  I wait patiently, enjoying the steady rise and fall of Dean’s chest as I sit as still as possible so as to not wake him.  After what must have been at least five minutes I start to get a little concerned; what if he’s not there?  Castiel, you’re starting to shit me up here, come on, say something.  You’ve got to still be in there. 

**… Liv?**   The relief I feel comes out in a heavy exhale, the tension falling away from our body that is immediately back in Cas’ control now that he’s returned.

What the hell happened back there, Cas?  There’s a pause, a feeling of uncertainty and worry that he quickly tries to cover. 

**Our earlier exertion used more Grace than I was anticipating.**

Are you going to be ok?  The last thing we need is Cas running out of Grace entirely – I’m not sure what would happen to either of us if that were the case. 

**I’ll be fine, Liv, thank you.  I just… need to rest and use my powers more conservatively until my Grace is restored.** He’s trying to sound reassuring, I know it, but I can feel the hesitation, the undercurrent of thoughts that convey just how urgent finding his Grace might be.  I’ll really have to make sure he holds back from now on. 

**How did we-?**  Cas shifts our body slightly, gaze searching the room but his thoughts cutting out our eyes fall on Dean’s steadfast grip on his previous vessel. 

Dean must have brought us in here.  Cas stays silent, eyes unmoving from Dean’s closed fist, his emotions toing and froing too fast for me to get a grip on them.  There’s confusion, undoubtedly there’s that, happiness too, and in just a few seconds the most lovely warmth starts to blossom in our stomach. 

I can’t help but say I told you so, thinking pointedly just that.  I told you Dean cares for you more than you think. 

**“Dean…”** Cas says aloud, wistfully, reaching out our hand and placing it atop of his.  The hunter starts a little, his chest jerking to that effect, a sleepy mumble brushing past the top of our head as his fingers relax their grip from Jimmy’s shirt and slide away as he starts to wake.  Cas keeps our hand on top of his, though, and Dean doesn’t pull away, even when Cas turns our body slightly and twists enough to be able look back at him. 

Dean’s long eyelashes flutter as he blinks hard, frowning hard too, lips pursing and relaxing as he moistens them and tries to get his bearings.   When his eyes meet ours, finally showing some clarity, that frown becomes even deeper and his posture that was initially so soft and warm becomes taught with tension. 

“I really messed up tonight, didn’t I?”  Dean asks softly after a bloated silence, his gaze dropping to the floor as a small, regretful smile flashes across his face. 

“We all make mistakes,” I assure him instantly, knowing that he’s already chastising himself for what he did more than anyone else ever could.  Cas squeezes our hand around Dean’s tighter, making him lift his eyes again, gazing back at us with uncertainty. 

**“I know you want answers, Dean, but we had-“**

“Hey, no, I get it.  I-“ He hesitates and looks to where our hand is cupped over his, jaw clenching, “I was gonna kill him.  And I couldn’t stop myself.” 

“We’ll figure it out, all right?”  I say gently, Cas tilting our head and pulling our lips into a kind smile.  A few seconds pass, Dean watching the movement of our thumb brushing back and forth over his, before he speaks again.  Cas’ whole consciousness is practically throbbing with love, every second that passes sending out a new pulse of adoration, and it’s so strong it almost drowns out thoughts of my own. 

“I was a dick to you, too,” he admits quietly, “I don’t know why I did that.”

“You were drunk,” I smile with dark humour and a similar smile crosses his face too.

“I’m still drunk,” he chuckles, the force of his laugh brushing whiskey scented breath across our face. 

“Yeah, well, I was too hard on you.”  Cas shrugs our shoulders in admittance, a piece of hair falling in front of our eyes as he glances downward in response to my regret. 

**“Watching you inebriate yourself is difficult for me.”** Although I know Cas is referring to my own difficulties I know that he’s not just speaking for me; I could tell that he dislikes Dean drinking to excess almost as much as I do.  The Dean that slurs and leers and reeks of alcohol isn’t the one he’s fallen so in love with. 

“Why?”  Dean questions, not insolently but with genuine curiosity lighting his eyes.

**“My Father is an alcoholic,”** Cas explains before I can stop him, and our insides clench with the shame and embarrassment I feel.  My partner-in-crime immediately starts to internally apologise for divulging information I’d considered personal, private, but the damage is already done – that look is already on Dean’s face.

“Oh,” he says, understanding dawning and making him even more shamefaced for his prior behaviour.    

“Look, don’t worry about it,” I interject before he can say any more, “Let’s just forget it, ok?” I’d really rather not think about it, much less talk about it and I think Dean reads that well enough because he doesn’t press the issue.  Instead he just looks back at us, the space between his eyebrows crinkling into a delicate ‘v’ of concentration. He withdraws his hand from under mine and pushes that piece of hair back from my face, our chest rising as Cas takes a deep inhale of wonder at the gesture, disbelieving that Dean would be touching him, us, so. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, his eyes flicking back and forth between the features of our face, hand falling away and Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “For everything.”

**“Dean…”** Cas begins, shaking our head lightly to try and clear the entranced haziness Dean’s intense scrutiny has caused.  It’s so hard not to get spell-bound by those eyes when they’re so solely focused on you.  **“Cain still has the Mark.  He’s lived with it, for years.”**  Dean’s frown deepens marginally as he listens to the words Cas is saying with my mouth. 

“Maybe there’s part of you that wants to give into it - but you have to fight that, you know?”  Dean’s eyes look to the ceiling for a moment, biting down on his bottom lip as he tilts his chin upward and gives the gentlest shake of his head, unable to muster any faith in himself.  Dean’s self-belief faded a long time ago. 

**“The Mark is strong, but, Dean,”** Cas continues, reaching out and pressing our hand directly to the Winchester’s chest, above his heart.  Dean looks to the hand, to us, still worrying that pouty lip, **“You’re stronger.  Part of that powerful force that we need to fight the Mark, part of that has to be you.”**

Dean says nothing but he doesn’t have to; the look on his face tells me all I need to know.  He’s overcome and probably not sober enough to really process all the devotion that’s being given to him, but it blossoms a look of awe in his eyes none the less.  Perhaps there’s hopefulness there, too, but it’s so hard to decipher anything when the thickness the air has suddenly taken on is making it feel like it’s difficult to breathe.  All Cas and I can do is gaze helplessly back at him, completely caught in this beautiful man’s spell, every fibre of our shared body screaming out to be touched, to be kissed.

Kiss him, Cas, for the love of God, kiss him.   

**“Kiss me,”** Cas breathes out in a whisper that sounds dangerously close to desperate, curling our other hand around the Mark on Dean’s forearm as he automatically leans closer, his eyes falling closed as ours do too. 

Dean’s perfect bow-shaped lips make contact with our own, and the flash of joy that bursts forth from Cas is almost blinding.  Our whole body feels like it’s catching fire, hands gripping tighter onto the man who’s curling his hand in our hair and pulling us closer.  Castiel is so overawed that for a second, and really it feels more like ten, he forgets to kiss back and Dean’s soft lips just wait tentatively. 

He almost starts to pull back, probably afraid I’ve changed my mind, but the threat of losing what Castiel has wanted for so long finally plunges him into action.  Our mouth that was initially as still and as unyielding as stone suddenly melts against Dean’s, lips becoming pliant and responsive to the hunter’s expert ministrations.  All the thoughts that were tumbling around in our shared head start to fade away as Dean kisses us, kisses Cas, kisses me.

Our skin prickles with excitement, lower abdominal muscles tightening with instant arousal as Cas kisses back with equal fervour, the kisses that started off so slow and hesitant quickly deepening when Cas parts our lips obligingly to Dean’s probing tongue.  His blunt fingernails scrape our scalp where his hand is twisted in our hair, leaving trails of fire behind them that burns as hot and as deep as it does in the pit of our stomach. 

Although it feels wonderful and though the desire to keep our lips locked together is almost too strong to resist when it feels so _good_ , the taste of whiskey that lurks from his mouth into mine is enough to sober me up and remind me that Dean hardly has a level head right now.

Cas, we need to stop.  He keeps going, not heeding my words as he gives us over completely into Dean’s hands, the one that isn’t busy in our hair fixing itself around our waist instead. 

“Dean,” I murmur out between kisses that Castiel is still desperately trying to continue.

“Hmm?” he questions half-heartedly, his eyes still shut as he lets out a surprised groan of pleasure when Castiel tugs on his bottom lip bravely with our teeth. 

Cas, for fucks sake, get a hold of yourself.  He’s completely unresponsive, so lost that I may as well be talking to a brick wall.

“Dean?”  Sam’s voice calling from the hallway acts as the distraction I need – the elder brother pulls away rapidly as Cas chases after him with pouting lips, only opening our eyes when Dean’s hands are placed on our shoulders instead to hold us at arm’s length, much to Castiel’s frustration. 

**“Dean…?”** Cas questions breathlessly at the soft smile that greets us but Dean says nothing, eyes crinkling in the corners to accompany his smile. 

“Dean, where are you?!  Liv?!”  Sam calls again, the growing concern evident in his voice.  Dean taps the curl of his index finger against the bottom of our chin to close the mouth that’s still gaping in astonishment and then squints one eye into a wink that makes our heart flutter even more wildly than before.  He disentangles himself and rises from the floor and leaves us there - the gooey, hot molten mess he’s made - to go out and reassure Sam that he’s not gone on some wild killing spree.  

I give the Angel a minute to come back down to earth to re-join us mere mortals as I try to tune into the hushed conversation being passed back and forth between the two Winchesters, but it’s no use.  Eventually  the cloud of joy that had been obscuring Cas' thoughts recedes enough for me to hear them again, even if they are a jumbled mess. 

So, was that as good as you’d imagined it’d be?  Hell, I don’t know why I’m asking; I was there, I know it was.  Dean kisses like it’s all his pretty mouth was ever made for. 

**… We may need to visit the bathroom again.**


	8. Chapter 8

Almost a week has gone by since that intimate encounter with Dean, and it’s been almost a week of it not being mentioned or acted upon again; much to mine and Castiel’s mutual disappointment.  I hardly want to bring it up in casual conversation – ‘Hey, Dean, remember when you beat the crap out of Metatron and then shoved your tongue down my throat?  Yeah, can we do that again?’ – and Cas certainly isn’t brave enough to bring it up. 

His lingering looks have gotten even worse since that brief but wonderful taste, the desire that’s consuming Cas practically burning our insides up every time we cross the Hunter’s path; which is often.  There hasn’t been a case to speak of or any leads to follow, much to everyone’s frustration.  Dean’s been pacing the bunker like a caged animal, his face affixed with a permanent frown that hasn’t been helped by the health kick he’s adopted as an attempt to fight the Mark in any way he can. 

Something has changed, though.  Although he’s grumpy and snappy and anti-social even in the best of moods; frequently cursing right before every low-fat, low-carb meal that Sam prepares, his expression will still soften each and every time he catches Cas staring.  For a moment he’ll let all of that anger and frustration go and look back, a knowing smile appearing on his face that’s so small that his lips stay lax and full and _gorgeous._  

So although Cas and I have debated back and forth in my head a million times that perhaps Dean doesn’t remember, perhaps Dean thinks that the kiss was a mistake, I insist that that’s not the case.  His eyes wouldn’t glimmer the way they do when he looks at us otherwise.  Every not so accidental brush past us in the hallway hints at the shared memory of our secret and unspoken encounter.  He knows.  He’s just waiting for us to make the first move.

Actually making that move when you’ve got a coy and nervous Angel in control of things is proving pretty difficult.  You’d think that the kiss would have spurred him on, but if anything Cas is filled with even more hesitation.  He’s so desperate not to get it wrong, to not do anything to endanger this thing we might have with Dean that it’s threatening to paralyse us and make it not happen at all.  I can see now how he got stuck into that rut whilst occupying Jimmy’s vessel – always wanting but too fearful to act.  Well, I’ll be damned if that’ll happen again. 

There’s also the small matter of Sam’s continuing presence.  It’s very rarely ever just the two of us – well, the three of us, technically – because of course the bunker is his home too, and I doubt he’d be very much impressed if we climbed onto Dean’s lap and started stripping him out of his t-shirt as I caught Castiel imagining at breakfast just yesterday. 

Don’t get me wrong; I have no issue with Sam.  In fact, it’s the younger Winchester that I’ve spent most of my time with in those hours where Dean has locked himself away in his room to brood.  He’s been so friendly, so considerate; do I want to sit and do some research with him?  Do I want to watch a movie?  Hell, he even let me use his laptop for a while.  In those moments Castiel usually slinks off into the background of my mind and relinquishes control; brooding because that’s what Dean is doing too.  Whether he’s in Cas’ eye line or not Dean is never out of his thoughts, so sometimes it’s kind of nice to have my head space to myself again, even though I’m increasingly fond of my lodger.  

It’s become bizarrely ordinary having Cas with me 24/7, considering it’s only been a week.  I’m not sure I’d ever thought sharing your body with a celestial being would be something I’d get used to, but now I can barely imagine it being any other way.  There’s always someone to talk to, someone to share a private joke with (even if Cas doesn’t always get it), and some nights we’ve lain our body in bed and stayed up all night, Cas telling stories in my head; filling my mind with images of the beautiful and terrifying things he’s seen during his long life.

* * *

I recognise this place.  It’s almost as if I’m there, really sat on a bench in a children’s playground that I know from my childhood. 

**This is from your memory, not mine.** I didn’t even realise I had this memory; I’ve always lamented the fact that my long term memory at best sucks.  But here I am,   
Cas replaying a memory that he must have dug out from under years of crap so that I can watch my younger self as she’s pushed a swing set by her Daddy.  He looks so healthy and happy, his appearance well-kept and tidy as it always was before.  He always did like to look his best for her…

My Mom, sat on a nearby bench like me, blinking hard and rubbing her eyes as she watches her husband and child.  You’d be forgiven for presuming it’s the sun in her eyes that’s making her squint, but I’m not so blissfully ignorant.  It’s a sign of things to come; a brief glimpse of the inflammation in her brain that would press on her optic nerves during a flare-up.  These episodes would worsen and become more frequent the older I got, accompanied by a wide and terrible assortment of symptoms that left my once beautiful mother – people say I look like her, but I’m not convinced – needing constant care. 

It’s too hard to watch.  Seeing the smiles on our faces and knowing what’s to come… it’s unbearable.  The slow progression of Multiple Sclerosis is cruel, the brief moments of false hope that come with transient improvement and regression almost worse.  My mum didn’t deserve that.  I didn’t deserve to lose them both.  The man pushing that gleeful little girl ever higher is unrecognisable from the drunk he turned into after her death…

**I’m sorry, Liv.  I thought… I had thought this would be a happy memory for you to see.**

The memory fades into black, Cas opening our eyes and tears spilling out when he does.  It’s bitterly sweet and would make me smile if I could, knowing that Cas is crying on my behalf on feeling all my pain, the salty streams flowing down our cheeks on the outside matching the tears inside. 

It’s alright, I know you meant well.  I can feel all the regret and the sadness that he feels for me as he uses our hands to wipe our face, and his apologies just keep ringing through my head.  Really, it’s fine. 

**I sometimes understand why humanity questions the paths that my Father has laid out for them.  It seems unjust that some people, good people, experience such heartache in their short lives.**

Shit happens, Cas, you’ve just got to make the best of it. When life hands you lemons, and all that.   

**I’m not sure why citrus fruit is of relevance… but nonetheless, you deserved better.** Warmth envelopes my consciousness, an otherworldly hug from my favourite Angel that eases my melancholy and distracts me from dwelling on the ache that fills my stomach every time I dwell too much on my parents. 

I’m just thinking to Cas that I might switch off for the night when the sound of a door opening and closing down the hallway reaches our sensitive ears.  It prickles my interest, Cas sitting us up in response to it and listening harder.  It must easily be 3am at least; usually we’re the only ones still awake at this time of the morning.

**That came from Dean’s bedroom.**   I swear Cas can use echolocation sometimes. 

Maybe he’s just going to the bathroom?  We wait for a few more minutes but there’s nothing; no other doors opening or closing, no flushing of a toilet. 

We should go see.  I feel Cas’ hesitation and instantly egg him on, prodding encouragingly with my mind.  What if something’s wrong?  Of course that does the job; Cas would never leave Dean unchecked if he thought there was even the slightest chance he wasn’t a-ok. 

**You’ve made it abundantly clear that I am infuriatingly predictable, I’m all too aware.**

Only when it comes to Dean, blue eyes.  Cas is up and out of our room, padding down the hallway with cautious, light steps.

**Technically our eyes are grey.**

Quit bitching, Cas. 

We pass Dean’s room and peer inside; the door’s hanging open but Dean’s clearly not there.  His bed looks slept in, the sheets haphazard and half on the floor, but otherwise empty – so we continue our search.  Along the corridor, through the library, peeping into the war room, but nothing.  Cas is just shrugging our shoulders and scanning the library as though he’s expecting Dean to be hiding behind a bookcase when we hear a cupboard being rummaged through, the sound of ceramic crockery knocking together giving away Dean’s location.  

**This is an odd time to be cooking.**

Maybe he’s got the munchies?  I wouldn’t blame him.  I’m all for eating healthily; I’ve had my fair share of salads in my lifetime, but even I’m starting to crave a good cheeseburger.  With bacon.  And onions.  Oh please, let him be rustling up a burger. 

He’s not, though, that much is evident as soon as we cross the kitchen’s threshold.  He’s stood over by the sink and pouring the remains of boiling water into it, the rest of it presumably in the steaming mug sat atop the metal table in the centre of the room.  He’s made hot chocolate, the smell unmistakable as it wafts over to reach us in the doorway.  Dean plonks the kettle down and returns to his drink, his back to us and apparently too tired to notice we’re here as the spoon he’s rotating around his mug clinks against the sides. 

Cas is too busy admiring the way Dean’s navy robe hangs across his broad shoulders to speak, so I take the opportunity to announce us. 

“Never had you pegged as the hot coco type, Winchester,” I smile, laughing the instant that he jumps, spoon clattering as he’s truly caught off guard.  He casts a dirty look over his shoulder, his smile giving away his amusement now that he’s recognised my laugh, continuing to stir as if nothing has happened. 

“I was gonna apologise for waking you but now I don’t think you deserve it,” Dean teases back as Cas automatically crosses the room to close some of the distance between us. 

**“I wasn’t sleeping,”** Cas informs him and Dean casts a quick sideways glance our way, an eyebrow raised but not enquiring as to why as he continues to stir. 

“You can just make me one of those as penance,” I tell him, prompting a smirk of a smile to cross his face.  He does, though, fetching another mug from the cupboard and spooning out more chocolate powder as Cas fills the kettle to boil it again. 

Dean looks wonderfully domesticated as he moves around the kitchen in his bedtime attire; his navy robe, a led zeppelin t-shirt and black boxer shorts that are almost too tight.  I have to keep reminding Cas not to stare _too_ hard at Dean’s crotch, thankful that the robe keeps interrupting his eye line.  For an Angel of the Lord he’s pretty close to being a pervert. 

**I am _not._**

Try disagreeing when you’re not trying to make out the shape of Dean’s ass past the robe, Cas.  It might be more convincing.

“What happened to the whole ‘clean living’ thing, anyway?” I enquire as Dean finishes stirring my coco and pads over to the fridge barefoot. 

“Everything in moderation,” he replies shortly, voice muffled because his head is stuck inside the fridge.  He comes back out brandishing a can of squirty cream with a smile of childish glee and proceeds to apply it liberally to the top of his own mug until it’s smothered in a mountain of frothy white. 

**“I’m not sure that qualifies as moderation,”** Cas says with amusement, folding our arms across our chest in mock disapproval.  Dean just smiles wider, brandishing the can like a weapon.

“If you weren’t here I swear I’d be sprayin’ this stuff straight into my mouth,” he confesses with a longing glance to the can in his hand.  Images straight from Cas’ smutty imagination flash straight into my own; Dean on his knees with ‘cream’ dribbling from the corner of his lips, eyes wide as he gazes up from under those long lashes.  It’s so distracting that we completely miss Dean questioning whether I’d like some too, and it’s only when he’s looking at me expectantly, can poised, that I figure out that he’s waiting for a reply.

“No, no, I’m good,” I hasten to say, feeling my cheeks burn hot and red as Cas tunes back into the conversation, flustered by his own thoughts. 

“Your loss,” Dean replies casually, apparently unaware of the pornographic slide-show that was going on behind my eyes, putting the can back into the fridge and then handing us our cream-free mug with a smile.  “Cheers.”  He knocks the side of his mug against ours and then takes a sip from his own.  When he comes away with a thick cream moustache Cas manages to resist looking at by busying himself with our own drink, fearful that watching Dean lick his lips will be our undoing.   “Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it with coco,” Dean observes with a slight frown, lowering his mug as Cas lowers ours too, presuming that it’s safe to look up again. 

“You’re not wrong,” I agree as our eyes lock onto his from where he’s leant himself against the table just a few steps away, “But you’re doing great.  I know it can’t be easy.”  He tilts his head slightly, raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘Amen’ and then takes another sip. 

“You’d think I’d know better after watching my old man,” he says after licking his pouty lips free of cream again.  He’s looking thoughtfully at the floor as he says it, musing out loud, but meets our gaze with a wry smile when he remembers that I’m still here.  “Not exactly the best role model to be imitating.”  I can tell it hurts him to say those words. 

Dean spent an awful lot of time trying to grow into the man he thought his father wanted him to be; strong, capable, ruthless, a solder, a warrior with no time for weakness.  Look after Sammy, get the job done, save people, hunt things.  The realisation that maybe his Dad wasn’t quite the be all and end all that Dean had thought he was mustn’t sit comfortably with him even after all this time. 

**“He was there when you needed him,”** Cas reminds him, echoing the words Dean had said less than a month ago. 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees after a moment, that cynical smile staying as he tilts his mug and peers down into the thick brown liquid before he knocks some back as though it’s a shot of something much stronger but just as warm.

“We could blame everything on learned behaviour,” I offer, “There’s been more than a few times a bottle of scotch looked pretty good to me, too.”

“Guess you’re stronger than me.”  His smile is mirrored by my own mouth, just as bitterly.

“I very much doubt that.” Cas raises the mug to our lips and we take a sip; the coco is deliciously warm and thick, and suddenly I regret not asking for cream too.    

**“You have a lot to contend with.  All things considered, both you and Sam have remarkably sound mental health.”** At Cas’ words Dean laughs outright, a strained laugh that conveys his doubt in that statement all too clearly.  

“It comes and goes,” Dean admits with a slight shake of his head and a chuckle, “Sanity is overrated.”

A moment of comfortable silence passes between us as I enjoy the coco, wondering what we should say next as Castiel just enjoys being so close to the one he adores.  Surely this is the perfect time to mention the kiss, or better yet pursue another one, but before Cas and I can begin to internally argue about it Dean enquires further about my past instead.  “I’m guessin’ you don’t have the best relationship with your old man?”  I hesitate, never exactly eager to discuss my history or my parents, but with some gentle encouragement from Castiel I steel myself and divulge as much as  I can bare to.  Dean puts his mug down on the counter, giving me his full attention, and it only serves to make me more nervous.

“I did, when I was younger.  My Mom…”  No, I can’t bring myself to talk about her, “A lot happened, growing up, there was a lot of bad, stressful stuff going on.”  That seems like an understatement, but for now it’ll do.  Cas gives me a break, a pause where we take another sip from the mug, Dean waiting patiently with the slightest of frowns creasing his brow. “My Dad should have been the one dealing with it, but he bailed.  I had to be the grown-up instead.” 

**“He was mostly… unavailable,”** Cas adds, **“Though I do not doubt he cared, in his own way.”**  I know Cas is talking about both my Dad and his own now, and man, isn’t it depressing that even between the three of us we can’t put together a whole father-figure?  This conversation is making my stomach feel unpleasantly hollow and empty, so Cas fills it with another glug of coco instead. 

“Yeah… Well… the people who’re supposed to care about you aren’t always there when you need them,” Dean replies quietly as his right hand finds its way to the top of his left arm.  The Hunter had been stood so perfectly still before now that the movement, even though it’s subtle, instantly catches Cas’ attention, our eyes greedily absorbing the way Dean’s fingers knead the skin where Castiel’s handprint once was.   Dean clearly doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, but that gesture says more than words ever could about how much Cas’ absence is affecting him.

Looks like you’re not the only one pining, doesn’t it? 

**He believes I’ve abandoned him.  I never intended… I didn’t…** Cas is devastated, so wracked by guilt that he can’t appreciate Dean needing him as the good sign that it is.  The remorse just keeps on flowing, made worse by the unhappy expression on Dean’s face as he lets go of his arm and swigs his coco again instead. 

**“Castiel would never leave your side unless he had no other choice, Dean,”** Cas says emphatically, abandoning our mug on the counter and taking a step toward the man opposite, delicate hands extended toward him beseechingly.  Dean’s eyebrows raise, his full lips parting with the surprise of being read so plainly, cheeks pinking, embarrassed that he’s been so unintentionally obvious.  **“He would go with you, always, if you only say the word.”** The blush on Dean’s sculpted cheeks deepens scarlet as Cas closes the gap between our body and his, fingers closing around the soft cotton edge of Dean’s robe and using it to pull him even closer. 

Cas tips our head back, gazing up into Dean’s eyes in time to see his pupils dilate into fathomless pools of pitch black, his pulse bounding so strongly that you can see visibly accelerating underneath his skin, ours doing just the same.  Castiel doesn’t even need any encouragement from me anymore; all shyness and doubt is gone, dampened by the overwhelming need to show Dean how very _un-alone_ he really is, to assure him that his Angel is still watching over him, even if it’s in disguise.

“So would I,” I add breathily.  Dean finally manages to collect himself, his look of surprise changing into one of subtle appreciation as the corners of his mouth tug upward into a small smile.

“You believe in me that much?” he asks with a voice far softer than his usual gruff growl.  One large hand reaches up and pushes back thick, dark hair from our face, his calloused thumb brushing our cheek as he does.  “Even with this?”  He flicks his eyes to the ugly Mark emblazoned on his forearm, half obscured by a navy sleeve, and those beautiful green eyes are marred with apprehension when they come back to ours, as if he believes that the Mark truly makes him as unworthy as he’s always feared. 

**“Even then.”**  Cas looks to our hands and loosens the grip that was holding too tightly, opening our mouth to speak again, **“Dean, I – “**

It happens so quickly, so unexpectedly, words cut short and swallowed by Dean capturing our lips in a fierce kiss and tilting our chin upward in one slick, smooth movement.  It’s not hesitant or tentative like the first we shared; this one is all confidence and passion and everything I’d imagined a kiss from Dean Winchester would be.

Both Cas and I are putty in his battle-worn hands, caught off-guard by his assault but kissing back with equal enthusiasm. 

I’m almost proud of Castiel for how naturally he responds.  It seems to come easily to him, pressing the palms of our hands to Dean’s firm chest without hesitation, tilting our head back further with parted lips to let the other man’s tongue brush languidly against our own.  Dean’s muscular arms coil around our waist as we kiss, holding us closer to him, up onto our tiptoes, chasing the hard, solid heat of his body with half a decade’s worth of longing that has my stomach churning with want.

When the kiss finally comes to an end and Dean tries to pull away Castiel fights it just like before, reaching for him and pleading with our eyes, unwilling to part for a single moment even if Dean is still within a breaths reach. 

“So… Same time next week?”  I joke breathily as I try to regain my balance, smiling embarrassedly as I mentally chastise the Angel’s wanton desperation that has us clutching at the Hunter’s t-shirt, the printed words illegible because they’re crumpled between our fingers.   It’s a good job we’re not trying to play hard to get, because Cas is anything but.    

“Do you…”  We cut him off with another wet smack of meeting mouths. It echoes around the kitchen and makes Dean chuckle when he pulls away, his breath hot against our lips, “We’d better get back to bed,” Dean purrs meaningfully with his forehead rested on ours, pulling one corner of his bottom lip between his teeth as his fingertips squeeze into the flesh of my hips, and it makes Cas practically _whine_ inside our head, the subtle undercurrent of meaning behind Dean’s words completely lost on him.  He’s bereft, grieving at the thought of going back to our bedroom alone, his angelic naivety rendering him adorably oblivious that sleep is not what’s being suggested at all.     

**“Please,”** Cas murmurs helplessly, pressing forward with our hips, seeking every point of contact possible. Dean, thankfully, takes Cas’ utterance as consent and nothing more, and when he pulls away he laces his fingers through ours to pull us from the kitchen, coco long forgotten.  When Cas finally puts two and two together, gazing at our intertwined fingers, our dragged, dejected footsteps morph into a near-skip of delight that has Dean’s lust-darkened eyes crinkling with amusement all the way to the bedroom.  Hell, I can hardly blame Cas for his enthusiasm; I’m skipping and giddy on the inside too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - Smut, smut everywhere! *grin*

The journey to Dean’s bedroom is hardly a straight-forward one.  Cas’ enthusiasm has us pawing at the man’s robe with every step, fingers curled around his bicep, nuzzling our head against his shoulder like a cat insisting upon affection. 

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Dean chortles as we near the bedroom, still gripping our hand tightly.  Despite his teasing he’s clearly enjoying it, his pupils blown wide with lust and swallowing hard as he looks back at us.  A potent mix of frustration and exhilaration rises up in Cas from Dean’s gentle ribbing, and it drives him to push forward with our shared body with a strength that isn’t mine to shove Dean against his bedroom door with a loud thud.   With our heaving, excited bodies pressed flush together the vast difference in height between us is grossly emphasised, making it all too obvious that I really shouldn’t be strong enough to shove him anywhere at all, let alone pin him the way Cas is now. 

**“You have no idea,”** Cas growls back as we fix him in a hard stare, my voice pitched far lower than normal.  Dean looks practically aghast, mouth open with surprise at this sudden turn of events that have rendered him both submissive and speechless.  Before he has chance to muster a retort the sound of a door slowly creaking open somewhere down the hallway rudely interrupts us. 

“Dean?”  Sam’s call, quiet and cautious, comes drifting down the corridor.  Cas instantly stills, unsure of how to proceed, and relinquishes our tight hold on Dean’s forearms.  The rough slam of our bodies against the bedroom door must have been louder than we thought if it woke Sam up.

“Shhhh,” Dean hushes in barely a whisper, his lips curving into a roguish smile as he presses a finger to them, his other hand groping for the door handle behind him.  Cas grins back, a thrill of excitement thrumming through our connection as he revels in the sense of secrecy.  We don’t get chance to smile for too long because with the next breath it’s smothered, completely covered by Dean’s fuller lips when they press to ours in a firm kiss.  His tongue slides hot inside as he grabs a fistful of my pyjama vest and uses it to pull us inside of his room before Sam can spot us, our feet tangling in haste. 

The momentary disruption his brother provided creates the perfect opportunity for Dean to retake control.  He does just so; grabbing onto our hips and pulling us against him hard as soon as we’ve crossed the threshold.  He walks us backward against the door to press it closed again, a soft click this time rather than a heavy thud, and Cas is all too willing to submit and have our back pressed to smooth, cool wood instead of Dean’s.  We surrender completely to his caressing lips and eager hands, far too thrilled that it’s finally happening to give a damn about how.

Soft moans seep from our mouth into Dean’s as we kiss, half muffled and soon swallowed.  Our shared mind is a jumbled mess of lust and desire and yearning and every other synonym for _need_ , and each half-formed, rambling thought is impossible to untangle from the last.  It’s too much, too hard to concentrate on anything other than the slick wetness collecting warm between our thighs. 

**“Dean…”** Cas moans, tongue free to speak again now that Dean has withdrawn his long enough to scatter kisses along the slant of our jaw, skin prickling with electricity with each press of his lips.  Cas lifts a hand to twist it into the short strands of Dean’s hair as he goes, egging him on with the push of our hips. Dean responds in kind, the hand that was holding a hip so firmly finding a thigh instead.  He grabs and squeezes the soft flesh, travelling upward as his mouth continues down, palming our backside through the thin material of our pyjama shorts. 

I just can’t stop the exclamation that tumbles out of me when Dean’s lips form a vacuum to suck hard at a collarbone, canting his hips at the same time and pressing his solid erection against our stomach.

“Oh, fu-shit, god,” I garble breathlessly, ever eloquent, Cas pushing back so we’re rutting against each other and wriggling upward to manoeuvre Dean’s material-bound cock into the small space between my thighs.  The heat of him rubs back and forth against the incessant, throbbing ache between my legs, soothing it and enflaming it all at once. 

**Liv… please… not my Father…** Cas is barely coherent – I’m hardly any better – but his discomfort comes stuttering across nonetheless, filling me with a brief but intense sense of embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” I say aloud before I can catch myself, Dean dragging his teeth along our throat that’s dry from the force of all our heavy breaths.  He laughs quietly, lips curving against pale skin. 

“Sweetheart,” Dean begins, the dance of his breath against our extra sensitive skin tickling and causing the fine dusting of hairs on our arms to stand on end in delight, “You make all the noise you want… s’nothin’ Sammy ain’t heard before.” 

His hips surge forward to push his thick length against me, groaning as he does it, and suddenly both Cas and I find ourselves simultaneously wishing that there were far fewer layers between ourselves and the Winchester.  Cas instantly acts to rectify the problem, finding Dean’s mouth with our own and preoccupying him with hasty, urgent kisses as our hands push the robe from his shoulders.  It pools in soft folds around our feet and is quickly joined by the t-shirt that Cas yanks over Dean’s head to reveal the broad, masculine torso underneath. 

“That’s more like it,” Dean mutters approvingly, taking a step backward and pulling our vest top off in one smooth motion.  It joins the ever-growing pile, a flash of bright lilac streaking through navy and black, but our eyes are too busy absorbing every inch of the man opposite to really pay attention to it or dwell on any self-consciousness.  Cas loves every inch of him; the breadth of the shoulders that support strong, sun-kissed arms and the pale, soft stomach that swells with the most modest covering of fat from too many beers and too many cheeseburgers.  All of it. 

**Dean can barely keep his eyes from you, Liv, I was right to choose you.**  He’s right; Dean’s eyes are devouring us just as eagerly as ours are him, but instead of feeling thrilled by the Hunter’s hungry expression an unexpected pang of sorrow knots our stomach instead. 

At first I don’t understand it at all Cas’ reaction at all. Surely he should be pleased by how eager Dean is to touch us?  His large, skilful hands quickly find the swell of our breasts, groping and kneading, tweaking a hardened nipple to deliver just the right mix of pleasure and pain.  The feeling, however delicious it may be, sits in startling opposition to the melancholy I can feel coming from the Angel, and it’s downright distracting. 

It’s damn near impossible but I try my best to pay more attention to Cas’ thoughts, glad that Dean is too distracted by kissing our neck to notice that our hands have stilled on his shoulders, and suddenly the reason for Cas’ dismay becomes clear. 

**Dean would never wish to touch me this way without your vessel.  Without… _hiding_ myself behind your face _._ **

Oh Cas… I wish I knew what to say.  All I can do is send him a warm embrace through our bond, attempting to provide that same mental comfort he’s given to me before as best I can.  Just give it time. 

Cas says nothing, but after a few seconds I can feel his sadness being forcefully pushed back and put aside for a more convenient time; presumably when Dean Winchester isn’t in the process of sliding his palm upwards along our inner thigh. 

**“Dean, please…”** Cas groans quietly, running our hands from shoulders to stubbled jaw to lift Dean’s face and pull his gaze back to ours.  Just the sight of those wonderful jade eyes almost blackened with lust and desire is enough to drown out any negativity that was still lingering in Cas’ mind, overwhelming it with 6 years’ worth of longing.  **“I need your touch.”**

That gorgeous smirk of a smile pulls at Dean’s lips as a soft chuckle finds its way past them, his hands twisting into our thick dark locks to keep us close, barely an inch between us. 

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he purrs obligingly, long eyelashes fluttering against the smattering of freckles on his cheekbones as he gazes down at us, thumbs brushing either side of our face. 

With no warning to speak of those deft hands leave our face and grab not-so-gentle handfuls of backside and lift us from the floor as if we weigh nothing at all.

“Shit!” I exclaim in surprise as Cas reflexively wraps our thighs around his hips and our arms around his neck, holding on tight as he carries us to bed, laughing again.  He lays us down amongst the tangle of sheets, instantly laying himself on top to bring our bodies into contact in every way he can; lips, hips, legs tangled, kissing us deep and slow, hands caressing every patch of exposed, soft skin he can find.

Each subtle grind Dean’s makes pushes Cas further into delirium, the ache between our legs becoming so fierce that it’s almost unbearable, so hot, so wet, that Cas starts moaning shamelessly, begging with the flex of our hips.  We’re pushing back so hard that if it weren’t for the layers of clothing between us Dean would already be buried deep inside, and, God, I want it so bad, for Cas and for myself.  It’s been so long, and oh, I need something… anything! 

**“Dean, please, I-“** My voice comes out stuttered and wrecked and breathless, Cas twisting our body under Dean’s grasp, not trying to get away but craving more friction, more touch.    

“Tell me what you need,” Dean encourages thickly against our ear, breath hot, hands pulling and pushing at our shorts and Cas doing anything he can to get them off faster. 

**Liv… I… what do I say?** This is the first flash of hesitation I’ve felt from him in a while, and honestly, it doesn’t come as a surprise.  I hardly think dirty talk features heavily in Angel 101.  Luckily enough I’m more than happy to oblige. 

“Your cock, Dean, fuck,” I huff, Cas working our hands as I work the mouth, tugging at Dean’s boxer shorts and then pushing them downward with shaking fingers.  Our eyes close, Cas biting down on our bottom lip as if to hold back the filth spilling out.  He likes it though, I can feel it, and knowing both men are enjoying my crude tongue just gets me off all the more, spurring me on.  “I’m so ready for you Dean, so wet, I need it, I want it so damn bad,” I continue shamelessly, eyes still shut tight, Cas grabbing at Dean’s back with my hands. Scrambling, pulling, frantic. 

“Fuck,” Dean growls, and then slams his mouth against ours hard enough to bruise, teeth clashing, tongue plunging inside as his hands seize each of ours pins them above our head.  His boxers are still halfway down his powerful thighs when Dean finally pushes his way inside, and it’s so sudden and so deep that it steals the breath out of our lungs, eyes flying wide open. 

**“A-ah!  Dean!“** Cas cries out, psyche exploding with a pleasure more intense than I’ve ever felt alone, and Dean’s not even moving yet.   He pauses, chest heaving, forehead pressed to ours as he allows us a moment to adapt to the almost obscene thickness of the cock that he so unceremoniously thrust inside.  And true, there was little to no foreplay to speak of, but, hell, it’s not like we needed it; Dean spread us open with such ease, aided by desire so gratuitous that it’s dampened the sheets beneath our buttocks already.

Dean’s beautiful eyes open and look down into ours with an expression so tender, checking silently that I’m ok, that I still want this.  Want him.  And oh, we do, always.  The smallest of smiles spreads across our face, a sweet reassurance that has Dean almost blushing as Cas reaches up with our swollen lips to kiss him such love, such reverence that it makes my heart ache. 

A moment later Dean begins to move, returning Cas’ slow, languid kisses, withdrawing completely and then pushing back inside to the very hilt at a gorgeously unhurried pace.  He does this over and over again, circling his hips, caressing places inside of us that I didn’t know existed.

**“Ohh…”** Cas groans, a feminine purr of appreciation muffled against the Hunter’s neck as our fingernails dig half-moons into the backs of his hands, meeting each of his strokes to encourage him deeper.  It feels so _intimate_ , this slow, sweaty grind of our bodies, so much like making love that I almost feel like I’m intruding.

I know that for Cas this is about so much more than just physical pleasure.  This is about closeness, connection, comfort, losing himself in Dean; the man he plucked from Hell, rebuilt and remade and came to adore.  Words of love swell and crash through Cas’ mind like waves with each surge of Dean’s hips, and God, if only he could hear them.  He’d never have to doubt his ability to be loved ever again. 

A low moan passes Dean’s lips when they finally separate from ours.  He disentangles our hands, too, and threads them into hair instead.  His cheek presses into the brunette locks sprawled across the pillow when he rests his head down next to ours, so close that the tip of his nose brushes the side of my forehead as he moves.  Cas twists our neck to face him, and as we kiss again Dean’s pace never falters, gentle yet deliberate, our bodies moving as one. 

It goes on like that for what feels like hours, this slow, heady build of pleasure.  Cas wraps our arms tightly around his love, holding onto his muscular, rolling shoulders as the fire in our pelvis grows.  I didn’t think this feeling could possibly get any better, hit higher peaks than it already has, but when Dean finally starts to pick up speed, to push that little bit harder – oh, I’m so glad to be proved wrong. 

The sounds of exertion that he starts to make; the laboured breaths, the low, guttural grunts that stutter out when he snaps his hips like _that_ … they’re the most wonderful sounds I’ve ever heard.  And even Cas, who’s heard the Angels sing and the sun when it rises, even he can’t name a single melody that he prefers to Dean’s song of ecstasy.  He wants to tell him.  There are so many words Castiel wants to say, but as quickly as they’re formed they’re scorched away by that spark deep down that gets brighter and hotter with each move Dean makes, until all either of us can do is _feel_ and _throb_ and _burn._  

Dean’s hands shift to grab at our thighs and push them backward, tilting our pelvis to get deeper as his control falters, taking his sense of rhythm with it.   I know he’s close; I can tell by the way his thrusts stutter, his forehead creased in concentration, eyes pressed tight together, tugging at his bottom lips with his teeth, and Cas just can’t stop watching. 

**“Dean,”** he beckons softly over the sound of slapping skin and harsh breathing, our head turned to the side so that he can watch Dean slowly come apart, **“Look at me.”**

He does, his eyelids peeling back for us to lock eyes as it ends, green into grey.  Part of me wonders, through the haze, if Dean realises that there’s blue sky hidden behind the clouds of my irises.  Perhaps he can still recognise the telltale intensity of Castiel’s gaze even when it comes through another. 

Cas’ grip tightens onto Dean’s shoulder blades as he buries himself deep, these last pushes so frantic that they pinch with pain, clinging onto each other as the crest of climax approaches.  We meet his thrusts stroke for stroke, not even reaching the count of five before the three of us simultaneously break and shatter into a million, rapturous pieces. Cas and Dean never break eye contact, not for one second, not even when Dean’s eyebrows crease into the harshest of frowns, his pupils contracting to the size of pinpricks, or when Cas cries out something in garbled Enochian. 

And won’t _that_ be interesting to try to explain. 

Still, I can’t bring myself to care, not when Cas and I are bathed in the most wonderful afterglow, practically doped up to the eyeballs with endorphins as we try to calm the heave of our chest. 

“Bravo,” I congratulate, still breathless and sweating in all of the most unattractive places.  It’s ridiculous, but my mind is such a mess that it’s all that I can think to say.  Dean starts to laugh, not a just a chuckle, but a raucous belly-laugh that throws his head back and makes his shoulders shake.  Cas watches on and relishes the rare sight of Dean so happy and relaxed, soon joining him with a melodious giggle.

“Bravo?” he questions when he’s managed to collect himself, supporting himself on his elbows and looking down at us with an eyebrow quirked in good humour. 

**“Would a round of applause be more fitting?”** Cas teases back, mouth twisting into a sassy grin.  Intimacy has clearly made him bold.   He takes full advantage of Dean’s continuing close proximity to explore more of his body, running our palms along the planes and hollows of the Hunter’s back as he chuckles again. 

“Just glad you’re back to speaking English.”  Cas falters, hands dithering in the small of Dean’s back.  He’d been just about to palm his perfect, peachy ass with both hands, mouth practically watering at the thought, but now we just flush red instead at Dean’s mention of his Enochian slip-up.  There’s a moment of panic as we search Dean’s expression for any hint that he’s figured us out, but there’s nothing but humour twinkling in his eyes.  That, and a softness to his expression which Cas dares to hope is born from affection. 

“What can I say?”  I reply, tagging back in when Cas is too spell-bound to answer, “You got me all tongue-tied.”  A Cheshire cat style grin spreads across Dean’s face, pristinely white teeth glinting back at us, and Cas can’t resist the urge to steal another kiss. 

It’s over far too quickly for the Angel’s liking, Dean pulling away with a wet ‘pop’ and rolling off and onto his back so heavily that it makes the mattress groan in protest.  Our head immediately turns to watch him as Dean runs both hands through his hair with a loud, contended sigh, Cas entirely unconcerned with the messy practicalities that follow sex.  The sigh soon turns to a yawn, and apparently they’re contagious even for Angels, because our mouth gapes wide too immediately after. 

“Definitely getting my four hours after that,” Dean smiles, flicking his eyes from the spot on the ceiling to ours with a slight turn of his head.  He pulls his boxers back up with a snap of the elastic, the red indentations left on his thighs making Castiel smile, and then uses his large feet to hook the sheets upward from where they’d crumpled at the bottom of the bed.  Cas grabs onto them to help pull them into place but then hesitates once more – and not just because he can’t stand to lose the sight of Dean’s bare skin. 

**“May I stay?”** he asks shyly, looking up at Dean from under our eyelashes and forgetting to breathe while he anxiously waits for a reply. 

“Sure,” Dean replies without a trace of hesitation, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as if he finds it amusing that Cas even asked.  I know Dean has the reputation as a prolific ladies’ man to live up to but I don’t think he’d be so callous as to kick someone out of bed immediately post-coitus.  He’s kinder and gentler than that, even if he sometimes pretends that he isn’t.  “Gotta warn you though,” he adds as Castiel hums with happiness at thought of spending the night by Dean’s side, “I’m a real bitch for hogging the covers.” 

**“I’ll make do,”** Cas replies quickly, smiling so hard that it feels like our face might split in two.  Dean eyes twinkle fondly back at us and then he leans over and presses a brief, soft kiss against our forehead that causes happy bubbles to threaten to fizz over in our stomach, and when Dean pulls away Cas just grins back at him all the more.  He’s such a lovesick puppy. 

With one more yawn Dean tosses himself onto his side, facing the opposite side of the wall and pulling the sheet up and over his shoulder.  For a while we just lie there contentedly, staring at his broad back, the steady rise and fall of his breaths, the little shuffles and noises he makes as he gets comfy. 

Cas still can’t wipe the smile from our face, even after several minutes have ticked by, much less begin to believe that the impossible has just happened; that he’s connected with Dean, his beautiful Dean, in the most intimate of ways possible.

**Olivia… there isn’t… I don’t know how to thank you.  No words seem sufficient.**  I let out a soft exhale of a laugh at Cas’ absolute sincerity and thanks that floods through the bond; there’s really no need.

It was hardly a chore, Cas. Just, y’know, watch the Angel babble at the end next time. 

There’s a pregnant pause while Cas turns thoughtful.

**Do you… think a ‘next time’ is likely?** The quiet hopefulness of his thoughts is unmistakable.  How is it that an Angel like Castiel, who has proved more than enough times that he’s a swift and deadly force to be reckoned with, can seem so vulnerable and sweet when it comes to one man?  I just want to hug him tight, and I imagine doing it as I let him know that I really hope so.

**As do I.**

Cas turns our head to look at Dean’s back again.  I expect he’ll watch him all night; it’s not like we need the sleep, after all.  Dean lets out a particularly heavy exhale that makes the mattress shift under his weight and Cas fills with a longing to touch him that’s so potent it makes our stomach ache. 

Cas must still be feeling bold, because it doesn’t take much encouragement for him to seek Dean’s warmth again.  He turns us onto our side and closes the cold space between our front and Dean’s back, pressing us flush together and laying our arm across his side, effectively making us into the ‘big spoon’ as he nuzzles our face between the Hunter’s shoulder blades.

It wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind – I’ve never exactly pictured Dean to be the spooning type – and for a moment I worry that he’ll make some sort of awkward ‘no chick flick’ style jokes at Cas’ advance, but it never comes.  He does tense for a second, perhaps considering it, but then after a gentle press of our lips to his back he melts back down into the mattress with a soft sigh and accepts it.

“Night,” Dean murmurs quietly, voice muffled as if half of his mouth is pressed into the pillow.  Cas brushes our nose against his warm skin, absorbing every sensory experience he can while in such close proximity, musky post-sex scent and all, and Dean’s hand finds ours and links our fingers together in reply, pressing our palm to his chest.  The sweet gesture causes the love that had been sitting at the brim of Cas’ mind to overflow, to cascade uncontrollably, until he’s opening our mouth to confess. 

**“Dean… I-“**

Don’t.  I know how much you want to tell him that Cas, I can _feel_ it… but it’s too soon.

He says nothing but I can feel his thoughts warring inside, torn between the overpowering need to declare his true feelings once and for all and what he reluctantly admits is the right thing to do. 

Waiting a little longer won’t hurt.  We’ll tell him someday, I promise.

**“Goodnight Dean.”**


	10. Chapter 10

For the remainder of that night I’d willingly retreated into the blank chasm at the back of our mind, at rest but not sleeping.  It’s the least I could do; my absence allowed Cas to enjoy spending the night next to Dean in a body that felt entirely his own, just for a while, and enjoy it he did – he tells me all about it the next morning. 

**Dean was dreaming.  His eyelids twitched most of the night.** I let out a soft chuckle as Cas pulls our soft sweater over our head, muffling the sound.

“Didn’t you have better things to look at than Dean’s eyelids all night?” I mumble to him as he shucks up our jeans too.  All of his movements are bouncingly enthusiastic this morning, like an over-excited puppy.  Last night’s events have clearly left him in a good mood.

A cheeky grin spreads across our face in the mirror, Cas running our fingers through the tangles of still-wet hair. 

**I assure you I paid thorough attention to all Dean’s features.  Equally.**

“Yeah, I bet you did,” I chortle. 

Pervert.

He doesn’t even deny it, just continues to grin back via my mirror image.

**I pretended to sleep when he woke.** He abandons his attempt to tame my unruly hair, settling for pulling it all over one shoulder to leave a damp spot on the green fabric as it dries.  Cas’ statement makes me wonder – would Dean mind so much if it were this vessels appreciative gaze he woke up to, or would that give him the heebs too?  Maybe he just doesn’t like being put under the spotlight, be it by grey eyes or blue. 

**He kissed your forehead before he rose.**

_Our_ forehead, Cas.  The small smile our lips pull into is bittersweet.  Any physical affection from Dean is a cause for celebration, obviously, but with every press of his lips Cas can’t help but linger on the thought that he believes it’s not intended for him.  Not really. 

That happy-sad feeling stays as we leave our bedroom, fully dressed and ready for whatever today brings.  I’m eager, too, to see if Dean will treat us any differently.  I’ll bet there aren’t many women Dean has had to face the next day, ones that he can’t just leave behind in a cloud of dust from the Impala’s tyres, onto the next. 

When we enter the library we’re met by the sight of the two boys deep in thought.  Dean’s flipping through some newspapers, as is his usual breakfast-time habit, and Sam’s scrolling through news websites with one hand whilst the other delivers forkfuls of food to his open waiting mouth. 

“Hey lazy bones,” Sam greets affectionately, hurriedly swallowing his mouthful as we approach the table and take a seat next to him, across from Dean, who Cas can’t keep his eyes off. “Seems like everyone’s sleeping in late today.”

Dean’s eyes lift from the sprawled newspapers and meet ours for a split second.  It’s only brief, but more than enough time to share a secret joke, his eyes twinkling and lips pulling up into a half-smile.  We both know why we were slow to get up – not that we’ll be sharing that with Sam. 

“Something keep you up?”  Dean asks nonchalantly, turning his gaze back to the paper and thumbing to the next page.

“Nothing too exciting,” I reply with a barely concealed smile.  Dean’s eyes flicker back up at my tease, clucks his tongue, then takes a sip of whatever is in the glass in front of him.  It’s something green and viscous that leaves him with a disgruntled expression. 

“Well you missed breakfast,” Sam informs me after a moment, the undercurrent of our seemingly innocent exchange lost on him. 

“Not that you missed much,” Dean adds with a grunt. 

“I can make you another smoothie?” Sam offers with a slight tilt of his head, hair swinging out from behind his hair. 

“She can have mine.”  Dean slides his plate across the table.  Cas takes it, pulling it toward us with both hands to peer down at the mildly unappetising egg white omelette sat there with a chunk missing.  Dean was clearly unimpressed after the first bite. 

**“Thank you Dean,”** Cas says appreciatively, smiling back warmly at the man opposite. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Cas starts to tuck in even though I can’t say I’m enthusiastic about eating luke warm gelatinous goop that wiggles en route to our mouth.  He’s just glad that Dean is extending kindnesses to us, a positive sign that last night hasn’t been written off as a regrettable action, so eats with gusto.

“This wouldn’t be half bad with some ketchup,” I admit after a mouthful or two. Sam must have been the chef this morning because it’s him that smiles at the compliment, pausing mid-click.

“Or some bacon.”  Dean leans back in his seat and rests both hands on the back of his head, stretching, “Or sausage.  Man, what I’d give for some sausage,” he says longingly.  Sam and I must share a mutually filthy mind because both of us end up laughing, Sam almost spluttering coffee all over his keyboard in amusement as Dean scowls back.

You’ll give him some, won’t you Cas?

The blankness I get back in reply, Cas clearly missing the joke, just makes me laugh all the more.

“It’s a good job I’m on this whole zen, peace and love shit, or you’d be laughing out of the other side of your face,” Dean warns his brother with a pointed finger and raised eyebrows, but Sam just shakes his head as we settle down, paying his threat no heed.

“Dude, you’re the one who said it.”  Dean grunts something in reply and goes back to his smoothie, taking another glug.  He must have forgotten how much he hated it the last time, because after this one he slides it across the table out of reach, grimacing again. 

 

We finish our breakfast, and whilst we eat Cas leans in to read over Sam’s shoulder about various missing people and murder investigations, trying to glean something that might be worthy of the Winchester’s attention.  After a minute or five of uncomfortable twisting in the seat Sam notices our discomfort and shuffles his chair closer to ours and turns the laptop slightly to give us a better view, something I smile gratefully at him for.

“What the hell?”  Sam’s quiet murmur draws my attention back from its momentary lull - there’s only so many articles I can skim read before my eyes start to glaze over- and Cas looks to Sam’s face.  He’s scowling hard at his laptop screen, leaning in to try to get a better view so Cas does the same, crowding in, squinting our eyes and tilting our head as if he were still in Jimmy’s vessel. 

“Is that…?”  I start, voice laden with confusion.

“Who?”  Dean questions in the pause that follows, impatient, “Cain or Crowley?”

The image of the woman on the screen is unfamiliar to Cas, though I’m sure he’s heard lots about her. 

“Neither.”

“Charlie,” Sam states, sounding just as confused, intelligent hazel eyes still fixed on her.

**“She’s back from Oz?”** Cas questions, looking up and across the table to Dean who’s rising and shrugging his shoulders with a puzzled look.

“She didn’t call?” He makes his way round to stand behind the two of us, a hand on each chair and leaning forward to watch too.  The reaction to Dean’s close proximity is instantaneous, butterflies swirling in our stomach as the scent of his familiar aftershave hits our nose, and it’s taking all of Cas’ self-control to keep himself from resting our cheek against his forearm affectionately. 

“Yeah… uh, she’s been busy.” 

“What the hell am I looking at?”  Dean asks as Sam widens the video frame, trying to make the picture clearer. 

“Good question,” I murmur as we all watch as someone that looks remarkably Charlie-like beats the crap out of some guy in a suburban garden. 

“So, you know, I was looking into the news, checking for anything weird, right? I found this story about a torture vic. Apparently, some kid videotaped this at his next-door neighbour's house,” Sam explains at it plays out, freezing the frame when it settles on a close up of Charlie’s face.  It’s unmistakably her, or at least someone pretending to be her.  Without a doubt. 

“What are you saying, that Charlie tortured someone?” Dean straightens up a little, clearly bristling at just the thought, and Cas swivels us in our seat to look up at him with concern. 

Sam hesitates, exhaling heavily.

“This doesn’t seem much like Charlie,” I weigh in hesitantly.

“No shit.  You know Charlie, right?  Our Charlie?”  Dean asks Sam incredulously whilst he just shrugs his shoulders, looking just as dumbfounded as the rest of us.  “Yea high, wouldn’t hurt a hobbit… practically sparkles?”  He’s pulling out his phone and dialling as he speaks, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Apprehensively, we all hope for an answer.

“Come on, Charlie, pick up.” 

“Who’s she wailing on?”  I ask Sam.  He closes the video and starts reading, forehead creasing in concentration.

“The guy she went all Jack Bauer on -- uh, Peter Harper,” he starts as Dean huffs and shoves his phone roughly back into his pocket.

“She’s not answering.”

“District attorney in Topeka. According to this article, he wasn't the only person in town that was hit. Uh, a court stenographer was assaulted the night before.” Dean leans back over to look at the screen, closer to us this time, his knuckles brushing against our shoulder where he’s gripping the chair.  Cas leans into it and Dean’s fingers twitch in response, a signal that it’s not an entirely accidental touch. 

**“Perhaps she had due cause?”** Cas offers, trying to be helpful.  He knows Dean won’t be enjoying the thought of their surrogate sister going rogue.

“Yeah, Charlie wouldn’t just go off on someone without a reason.”

“I wouldn’t think so either,” Sam agrees, eyebrows raised, “But look at the video.”  He makes a fair point, hand outstretched to the screen – it does look pretty damning. 

“Oh, I'm looking at it. But you know what we do, taken out of context, it doesn't look that much different. She could be hunting.”  Again, another fair point.  Sam sighs, eyes flicking back and forth across the images, as unsure as the rest of us. 

“Why don’t we go talk to this asshat and see what’s going on?” I suggest after a moment, “Sitting here speculating isn’t doing us any good.” 

The brother’s eyes meet for a moment, a split second of shared consideration, and then they’re springing into action.

“You’re right,” Sam agrees, pushing back his chair and rising from it.

“Let’s hit the road, figure out what the hell’s going on.” 

Cas rises from our chair too, the wood of the chair scraping along the darker wood of the floor, and it’s only this sound that stops the two men in their tracks.  Dean turns slightly, one eyebrow raised.

“You know when you said ‘we’, yeah, ‘we’ isn’t,” he gestures, pointing a finger between himself, Sam and us, “All of ‘we’.”

You have got to be kidding me... 

“No freaking way,” I disagree quickly, Cas sticking our hands on our hips, “Like hell are you guys ditching me again.” 

“Ditching?” Dean echoes, pulling a face and looking to his brother like ‘can you believe this chick?’.  It infuriates me, making me twice as obstinate about not being left behind.  Besides, Cas wants to go too.  Being cooped up in here, in me, is starting to give him cabin fever. 

“It’s safer for you here,” Sam tries to reason, but I’m not being fobbed off with that line again.  He closes the small gap between us and makes to touch our arm, his expression flashing with mild hurt when Cas automatically takes a step away.

Don’t look him in the eyes, Cas.  And Cas doesn’t get it, isn’t swayed by those puppy-dog looks of Sam’s the way the rest of the world is, but he avoids them anyway, fixing our gaze on Dean.

“I’m not missing the chance to meet Charlie, no way.”

**“I could be of assistance.  I could…”**  Cas hesitates, because honestly, what help would someone like me be on a hunt?  I’d be a liability without angelic assistance, and I know that as well as they do, but I _do_ have an Angel, and damn it, now I’ve started this fight I’m not losing it again.  **“I could provide female perspective.  Relate.”**  

Dean and Sam exchange puzzled glances.

**“With Charlie.  As a fellow female.”**

Oh god, Cas, just stop talking.  He shifts our weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortably from Dean to Sam and flashing an uncertain smile as the silence between us expands. 

“Look,” I start, simply because someone needs to speak again, “I know I don’t look like Bruce Lee or anything but I can kick an ass or two when I need to, I _promise._ ” 

Dean huffs as his gaze drops from our wide, beseeching eyes, shrugging his shoulders in defeat.

“Fine,” he concedes but then looks back up sharply, that pointy finger coming out again, “But when we’re there, you _do as your told_ , ok?”

There was nothing sexual about Dean’s words but some reason they find their way straight to my groin, and now that I’ve gotten my way I’m able to appreciate just how smouldering handsome the Hunter looks when he’s all riled up.  Cas flashes him a winning smile as we nod.

“I swear you’ve got a split personality sometimes,” he mutters as he turns away.

It’s a throw-away comment but it makes Cas panic nonetheless, and before I can stop him he blurts out an excuse to the retreating brother’s backs.

**“I'm menstruating soon!”**

CAS!

They both freeze mid-step, Dean staying stock still but Sam twisting on the spot, his expression a bizarre amalgamation of horrified and amused. 

“Too much information, Liv, way too much.”  And with that Dean exits the library.

**“PMS, you know, the hormones!”**   Cas shouts after him.  I don’t stop him because let’s face it, it’s not like this can get any worse.  It’s a good job he’s in control of my body because otherwise I’d be curling in a fetal position on the floor, resigned to never taking my hands from my blisteringly red face again. 

As it is Cas just looks back helplessly at Sam, slowly realising the error of his words as he becomes more attuned to the absolute _mortification_ I’m feeling.

Sam continues smiling with one eyebrow raised upward as Cas mumbles out a sheepish apology, obviously not quite so grossed out as his older brother.  He lets out of a sort of half laugh and then clears his throat, pulling his face straight. 

“Do you… uh…” he begins hesitantly, “Do you need to go to the store or…?”

… Is Sam Winchester asking me if I need to go buy feminine hygiene products?

We look back at his face, brows pulled together in kindly concern even though he looks like he’d much rather be slicing off a vampire’s head than having this conversation, and it almost, _almost_ makes me smile.  I would, maybe, if I weren’t so fucking embarrassed.  

“I’m good, Sam, thanks,” I mumble out with a dismissive wave of a hand, trying hard to not let Cas’ blunder get the better of me as he scrambles apologies in our head.  The look of sheer relief on Sam’s face at my reply really does make me smile in the end.  I’m guessing he’s thankful he doesn’t have to ask Dean to pull over the Impala for me to stop and pick up tampons. 

“I’m just gonna… go pack a bag.”  We point toward to the exit and make our move, eager to escape the awkwardness, only to be pulled to an abrupt stop by Sam’s large hand closing gently around our forearm.  Cas looks down sharply at the offending hand and then back up to Sam who’s tilted his head down slightly, concern written all over his face.

“You know it really would be safer for you to stay here,” he tells us softly, eyes searching ours and still not letting go, fingers imbedded in soft sweater fibres and pressing them to our skin. 

“It’ll be alright Sam,” I assure him with a smile, Cas slowly pulling our arm out of his grasp, “The Winchester’s have got my back.”  He smiles despite his concern, a breathy laugh coming out of him as he straightens up and pushes back the hair that’s fallen into his face. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he agrees as we turn to leave.  Neither of us can bring ourselves to mention the unfortunate truth that there are a whole lot of dead folk out there who would argue that an association with the Winchesters is by no means a good thing. 

* * *

 

I mutter reproachful things to Cas the whole time he’s packing, folding our things into a rucksack much more neatly than I ever would.  He stays dutifully silent, rendered mute by the threat that my irritation would only worsen should he be anything other than apologetic.

“PMS my ass,” I mumble darkly as we leave our bedroom, “I’ll show you bloody PMS…”

**I really didn’t mean to cause you any embarrassment, Olivia.**

I huff, finding it increasingly difficult to stay mad at the Angel when he’s mentally whimpering and whining like a puppy that’s been scolded after getting caught digging in the trash. 

Just _think_ before you open your mouth Cas.  Our mouth. 

**I’ll try.**

Cas reflexively looks into Dean’s room as we pass it and comes to a standstill when we see him inside.  He’s stood deadly still, staring blankly ahead at the bedroom wall with a knife in his hand.  Hand shaking, jaw clenching.

Cas he… that doesn’t look good. 

**“Dean,”** Cas calls softly, stepping into the room and approaching him.  It’s almost like he doesn’t hear us at first, eyes still fixed on that invisible spot. 

I plead with Cas to be careful, to move slowly, but the concern he feels drives our feet forward to stand us directly beside the Hunter, so close we can hear his ragged breathing. 

**“Dean, it’s alright,”** he tells him, so tenderly, closing our slender fingers around Dean’s wrist.  His shaking stills instantly, a jump of alarm taking its place, but then he smiles a wry smile and drops his head, chuckling like nothing’s happened.

“Guess the withdrawal must be getting to me huh?” he jokes, focusing in on the way our thumb is massaging the pulse point in his wrist under Cas’ instruction.

“I guess so,” I agree, wondering to myself if it’s the booze or the violence that he’s finding so hard to resist.  My money’s on the latter, unfortunately. 

“I still don’t think you should come,” he says, twisting round to look down at us properly but not pulling his hand away.  Cas picks up the knife’s sheath and slides it in place, not taking our eyes from Dean as he removes the element of danger resting between us. 

**“I told you I’d be by your side,”** Cas reiterates, pacing forward again so that Dean’s forearm and knife is caught between our bodies, our chest pressed to his.  Dean’s pupils dilate slightly, grassy green getting swallowed up by black.  **“I meant it.”**

Dean licks his lips and that provides all the encouragement Cas needs to press our ear to Dean’s chest, longing to hear his heartbeat. There it is, pounding away, thudding so hard Cas thinks it should be bursting through his ribs that he so lovingly carved words of protection into all those years ago.

A simple press of warm lips to the top of our head, a soft sigh, and then Dean moves away and pulls his arm from our grasp.

“You should take this,” he says, offering the knife on his open palm as Cas looks up at him longingly, “Just in case.”  He takes it. 

**“Thank you, Dean.”**  Dean smiles, his now empty hand reaching out and brushing a thumb across our cheekbone.  It takes all Cas has to not lean into it and seek out Dean’s warmth again.  If we weren’t about to leave I know he’d do just that. 

“Hey, ready?” Sam asks, entering the room with a bag slung over his broad shoulders, just as Dean drops his hand.  We both startle, nearly caught in the act, and offer Sam identical smiles. 

“Yeah.  Yeah, let’s do this.” 


	11. Chapter 11

Sam said the 200 mile journey from Lebanon to Topeka should take about 4 hours, maybe 3 and a half with the way Dean drives, so Cas and I had settled ourselves into the Impala well prepared for a long journey.  So far it’s not been a bad one.  Dean’s driving is smooth, if a little fast, and the back seats are soft, the leather well-worn from so many years of use.

It gets me all nostalgic thinking about Sam and Dean sat where I am now, laughing and squabbling, playing the licence plate game to pass the time, still young and fresh faced.  It’s only because Cas is in control that I don’t start crawling all over the seats trying to find that special spot where their initials are engraved. 

What I do do, though, is sing along to some of the tracks blaring out from Dean’s cassette player, the volume of my voice competing against the speakers.  Classic rock isn’t exactly my favourite genre, but I refuse to believe that anyone can sit and listen to American Woman without hollering along to the chorus.  Even Sam joins in at one point, a wide smile on his face as he watches Dean hammer his palms against the steering wheel, those green eyes flickering back and forth between the road and my reflection in his rear view mirror. 

I’m having far too much fun to care when Dean threatens to throw me out of the car after I tell him I prefer the Lenny Kravitz version to the original. 

As our journey nears a close – we spotted a ‘welcome to Topeka sign’ just a couple of minutes ago – Cas shuts our eyes.  He’s tired, I can feel it in him, and I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to be so exhausted yet unable to sleep.  I try to keep my mind quiet to allow him to rest, focusing instead on the steady vibration from Baby’s engine and the warm breeze blowing across our face from the open window, letting myself be lulled into peacefulness. 

“I still don’t think it was a good idea to bring her along…” 

My mind kicks into gear as soon as I realise I’m being spoken about, Sam’s hushed tone drawing both mine and Cas’ attention.

“Yeah, well, me neither,” Dean’s voice, equally quiet, agrees, “But you try arguing with her,” he grumbles.  I can just imagine the grumpy look on his face as Sam laughs softly.  I am stubborn at the best of times, admittedly.

“She doesn’t seem in a rush to get home, does she?” Dean continues after another verse of Hotel California passes.  Sam ‘hmms’ in agreement.  

“I get the feeling there’s not a lot for her to get back to.”  How depressingly accurate.

“Things have gotta be pretty desperate to want to hang around with us,” Dean scoffs.

“It’s a good thing she’s not in a hurry, I guess,” Sam says, frustration and worry starting to creep into his tone, “It’s not like we’ve got a clue how to send her back and no offense but…” He pauses, and I get the feeling he’s looking back over his shoulder at my ‘sleeping’ face, “We’ve kind of got bigger fish to fry right now.”

“I hear ya.”

Another pause.  The sound of one of the brother’s shifting their weight in their seat, the springs creaking slightly in response. 

“She’s not bad to have around though, right?”  Sam asks cautiously.  Pause.  Cas’ super-sensitive hearing picks up on the sound of Dean’s fingertips tapping distractedly on the rim of the wheel, and for a few seconds we both wonder whether Dean will disclose the night we spent together.

“She’s got a nice set of pipes… I’ll give her that.”

“Yeah…”

And that’s all that’s said, the conversation effectively brought to a close when the song ends and AC/DC starts to blare out through Baby’s speakers, the bass making the car buzz rhythmically, loose metalwork rattling in protest.  It’s the perfect moment to ‘wake up’ and just as Cas opens up our eyes, sitting up just that little bit straighten and feigning a yawn – which was totally unconvincing, by the way Cas – Dean takes a left at the highway intersection, then an immediate right into the ‘Days Inn’ carpark. 

“Good nap?” Sam asks when he spots our movement, twisting round to look at us over the back of the seat.

**“While it lasted,”** Cas smiles innocently.  Sam grins back as Dean brings the Impala to a somewhat abrupt stop, all of our bodies jerking in unison.

“Ooh, there’s an indoor pool!” I gush excitedly as Cas slides us out of the car, looking up at the tall advertising sign we’ve parked beside.  Dean gives a dry chuckle, shutting the car door and then heading to the trunk to retrieve our bags.  “And free Wi-Fi, Sam.”

“Somehow I doubt we’re gonna get much time for ‘R and R’,” Dean comments sceptically, grabbing his duffel bag and then our rucksack, passing it gently into our hands. 

“I’ll go get us a room,” Sam informs us before striding off towards the reception, jacket flapping out behind him in the increasing wind, two long black suit protectors slung over his shoulder.

Cas moves to stand closer to Dean, peering past him to look into the bowels of the Impala at my mental request.  

Man, that sure is a lot of weapons.  It’s a little unsettling seeing their portable arsenal in person; the knives and the guns and other assorted deadly paraphernalia all neatly in place.  It’s a stark reminder of just how dangerous these brothers are… that I’m not just watching these guys on TV anymore.  Nightmares and monsters here are very, very real, and these are the instruments of their destruction. 

Crap.  I’m so not prepared.   

**I’ll keep you safe, Olivia, I won't let any harm befall you.**  A warm feeling spreads over me, a soothing balm of reassurance from Cas’ words and the affection I feel through our bond, and I instantly feel better. 

“You still have that knife?”  Dean checks as he shuts the trunk firmly.  Cas slings our rucksack over our shoulder and then lifts the back of our sweater, twisting so Dean can see where he’s tucked it in the waistband of our jeans.  “Good girl,” he praises with a twist of a smile, and it thrills me more than I care to admit.

Cas follows close behind him as we head towards reception too, only to be met at the entrance by Sam who's already brandishing a key card. 

“King room, two doubles,” he informs us, leading the way down narrow but clean hallway.

Cas’ mind starts running away with itself as he imagines his ideal sleeping arrangement, which of course involves wrapping our body around Dean and occupying the same tiny slither of bed space even though there’ll be plenty of room in the two comfortable looking Queen’s we’re met with when Sam pushes open door 53.

“Me and Sammy’ll buddy up,” Dean says, throwing his and Sam’s duffels onto the nearest bed and effectively crushing Cas’ dreams. 

I have to remind him not to pout as he disappointedly shrugs our rucksack onto the other bed and then sits himself on the edge, folding our hands together in our lap. 

“Suiting up?” Sam checks as he lays the protectors he’d been carrying onto the bed covers. 

“Suiting up,” Dean echoes and Sam slides one his way.  How they know whose suit is whose is beyond me, but before I can start to ponder it for long my thoughts get completely railroaded onto another track.

They must have forgotten that I’m here, automatically falling into their familiar routine, because they both start to strip without any kind of warning.  Dean shrugs off his jacket and throws it onto the nearby paisley print armchair, Sam’s pulling his t-shirt up and over his head…

I mean, it’s not like I mind.  We’ve already seen Dean naked and Cas is _more_ than happy to keep our eyes fixed on him as he performs an unwitting striptease, but somehow I think Sam might be a little embarrassed if we wait too long before pointing our presence out. 

“Uh… guys,” I call.  They immediately freeze at the sound of my voice, Dean’s hands releasing the hem of his shirt and Sam twisting, almost in slow motion, to look over his muscular shoulder like a moose caught in car headlights.  I start to laugh, unable to help myself.  “Not that I’m not enjoying the show…”  I can’t even finish my sentence, giggling too much as Sam turns scarlet red, bangs flopping into his face as he looks down to his hands that were halfway through undoing his belt. 

“I’ll just… change in the bathroom,” he stammers out quickly, grabbing his suit in one hand and holding his jeans up with the other.  He looks so adorable as he shuffles out of the room, hunched over in an attempt to cover his modesty, blushing hard. 

Dean continues to strip as soon as his brother makes himself scarce, looking back at us boldly as soon as his head pops out of his t-shirt, cheeky grin and all.  It makes Cas fidget, picking at a pull in the bed spread distractedly.

**“I can avert my eyes if you wish…?”** Cas asks after a moment, despite the fact that Dean is making it obvious that he’s not even remotely bothered.  I get the feeling he might be enjoying being watched so intently, actually. 

“You getting shy now?” Dean teases, his smile pulling even wider as he undoes his belt.  Cas just gently shakes our head in reply. 

If Sam weren’t in the next room – and him swearing as he stubs his toe on the bathtub is a loud reminder that he is – I know Cas would be crossing the room to run our hands all over the cocky Hunter’s strangely perfect skin.  His longing is so great that being stuck over here on the opposite bed is a sweet kind of torture, one that we happily endure.  After all, looking and not touching is still better than not looking at all. 

By the time Dean’s fully dressed again, smartly dressed in his best suit, my bottom lip feels sore.  Cas finally stop chewing on it when Sam reappears; he glances at me as he emerges from the bathroom, a ghost of embarrassment still evident when quickly looks away and roughly clears his throat.

“Ok, we’re gonna go check out this Harper dude,” Dean announces from where he’s adjusting his tie in the cheap plastic mirror.  “You,” he turns to me, eyebrows raised, “Stay here for now.”

“But I wanna meet Charlie,” I say, instantly scolding myself for sounding like a petulant child. 

“I’m not sure this is a Charlie you want to meet,” Sam reasons patiently, palms outstretched.  “Let us figure out what’s going on first, make sure it’s safe.”  I sigh heavily, Cas crossing my arms over my chest, and out of the corner of our eye we see Dean start to reluctantly smile at our sulky behaviour.  “Just get comfy, use my laptop if you want,” he offers, and it touches me that he trusts me enough to use it even in his absence.  “I downloaded the first season of IZombie…”  He pulls the laptop out of his bag and sets it down on the bed next to me with a gentle pat, a little smile tugging at his lips.  We’d spoken days ago about how I’d wanted to watch that…

“Alright,” I finally relent, arms falling back to my sides, and his smile turns triumphant. 

“We good?” Dean checks, starting to become impatient.  Sam nods, straightens up and makes for the door.  “Come lock up after us.”  Cas rises obediently and follows the brothers to the exit, but before the eldest has the chance to leave our hand reaches out and clasps onto Dean’s suit jacket sleeve.  It’s reminiscent of the way Dean’s hand looked when it he held onto Jimmy so tightly, and just the sweet memory of it fills us both with happiness.

**“Be careful,”** Cas tells him softly when he pauses halfway out the door, Sam already walking on ahead.

“You know me,” he grins, “Mr conscientious.”  Cas raises our eyebrows in surprise at Dean’s unexpected fit of eloquence, and the Hunter’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Sam got word a day toilet paper a lil while back,” he explains, and it’s too much, his bashfulness is too cute – Cas just has to kiss him. 

He does, rocking up onto our tiptoes and briefly pecking our lips against his.  When we pull back Dean looks mildly shell-shocked and the tips of his ears turn as pink as his cheeks; I guess mustn’t be on the receiving end of many innocent displays of affection.

Dean doesn’t stay dazed for long.  He clears his throat and then flashes a quick, casual smile as he adjusts his tie, takes a deep breath.  His hand slows for a moment on its fall from his collar to his side, as if it’s half tempted to reach out and connect with our face or our arm.  Instead it’s stuffed firmly into a pocket.  

“See you later,” he almost mutters and then leaves.  Cas doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s disappointed as he closes the door and slides the bolt in place.  He’d hoped that Dean might kiss us back.

“Give him chance Cas,” I tell him aloud as he retreats back to our hotel bed, opening up Sam’s laptop and sliding it towards us.  “You know Dean’s not so good with the feelings.”

Cas mentally grumbles on the return to the bed where he settles us amongst the well-used but soft pillows, pulling the computer up onto our lap and turning it on.  It loads quickly, multi-coloured lights flashing up underneath the keys.

Of course Sam would have to have the flashiest laptop out there.  I’d happily stake my life on this being another fake credit-card purchase.

Castiel quickly finds the files intended for us.  Sam had made it very easy, accurately anticipating my level of computer literacy and compiling a folder on the desktop with every episode in, labelled clearly ‘FOR LIV’.  Sweet. 

It doesn’t take long for me to realise that Cas is not a very good TV watching companion; he asks far too many questions right from the opening sequence.  I try to explain that I know precisely as much as he does, we’re watching through the same eyes, for fucks sake, but this doesn’t discourage him.

**“Why is that pale young woman mixing instant noodles and brains with tabasco sauce?”** he asks aloud, cocking our head thoughtfully. 

Yeah, ‘cus it’s the Tabasco sauce that’s the real odd one out in that sentence.

God, I’ve never wanted to smother myself with a pillow more. 

“Those two better get back soon…”

* * *

 

It’s not all that long before there’s a knock at the door and a familiar voice calling my name, and mercifully Castiel had quietened down after an episode or two.  This was partly thanks to us both becoming too thoroughly enthralled with my zombie namesakes exploits to chat, and partly because I’d threatened to do my damnedest to expel him if he didn’t shut the hell up. 

“Liv, it’s Sam.  Open up,” the voice calls and Cas shuffles us off the bed quickly, eager to hear what the boys uncovered.  The door chain glances off the door with a rattle as Cas slides it open and pulls open the door, stepping back. 

Waiting in the doorway are two mismatched figures.  Sam is one of them, obviously, but instead of Dean stood next to him it’s Charlie, in the flesh, wearing a cautious smile.  I can’t quite contain the little noise of glee that escapes me when I see her pretty face.   

 “Charlie!”  I exclaim happily, Cas’ ridged posture not quite conveying my enthusiasm to see her.  Her eyes flicker up to Sam, unsure, and he smiles reassuringly back at her. 

Something’s off about him though, and once I look harder I realise within seconds that there’s a troubled look behind his eyes.  I wonder what’s happened?

“This is Liv, you know, the girl I told you about?” he says as Cas backs up from the door even further to allow the two of them to enter. 

“Oh, sure,” she says, smile pulling wider and warmer as her gaze travels the length of me from head to toe.  “Good to not be the only one under 6ft in the room for once.”  Charlie gives Sam a sideways glance.

“Hobbit,” he comments back at her good-naturedly, standing there with both hands tucked into his suit trousers.  She really is tiny stood next to him, which is bad news seeing as Charlie has at least a good four inches on me.  I must look ridiculous. 

**“Where’s Dean?”** Cas asks anxiously, peering past them.

“Dean’s here,” comes a gruff reply from the body that rounds the doorway.  He’s got a face like thunder, eyebrows pulled down low and not looking at anyone as he stomps in, slams the door behind him and then tugs his tie loose and throws it onto the bed. 

**“What’s wrong?”** Cas’ gaze follows him around the room, our stomach churning unpleasantly as we jump to all kinds of conclusions, none of which are good.

“Charlie slashed my god damn tyres,” he grimaces, flopping onto the bed to sit upright and yanking his collar open, stretching his neck from side to side.  Despite our worry we still manage to note just how sexy he looks doing it, the veins in his thick neck standing out.  A mental image of gently pressing our teeth into Dean’s throat flashes across Cas’ mind and into mine.  Oh hells yes.

Put that on the to do list, Cas.

He swivels our head from side to side, frowning with confusion, to look back and forth between Charlie and Dean.  Ok, so I’m totally lost… surely he’d have leapt on the petite red-head and be throttling her by now if she’d have dared injure his precious Baby?

“This Charlie…?”  I start slowly as she smiles back innocently, folding her hands in front of her.

“The other one,” Sam explains, badly, pulling off his jacket and loosening his tie too.  Cas peers back at him over our shoulder, completely bewildered.

“Bad Charlie,” Charlie adds.

“Bitch Charlie,” Dean interrupts grumpily and she scowls at him disapprovingly, something he pointedly ignores. 

**“There’s two?”** Cas asks, trying desperately to clarify the situation and form some semblance of understanding. 

“Yeah, uh, long story.”  Charlie shuffles nervously from foot to foot, looking from Dean to Sam, “Funny story, really.”  She gives a breathy huff of a laugh that lacks in humour as Dean rises from the bed, shrugging off his jacket and laying it down where he was sat. 

“This hotel’s got a bar, right?”  Dean asks, looking to Sam.  I feel our body tense, both Cas and I concerned that the Hunter is about to fall off the wagon. 

“Uh, yeah,” Sam confirms, glancing at us and then back to his brother.  He knows perfectly well how we feel about Dean and drinking, “Why?”

“A man could do with a drink after seeing his Baby _butchered_ like that,” he replies, grossly emphasising the word.

**“Dean-“** Cas begins, but Dean quickly cuts him off.

“Relax, killjoy, I meant an expresso.  Strong stuff, double shot.”   He pauses, fingers on his shirt’s buttons to start getting changed back into civilian clothing.  “Caffeine is still ok, right?” 

Cas shrugs our shoulders and Dean nods once, satisfied with our apathetic answer.  It’s certainly the lesser of the evils, anyway. 

A heavy silence falls between the four of us and when Cas looks at Sam I notice that his brow has furrowed again, that same concerned look as before re-appearing on his face.  There’s definitely some tension here. 

“Hey, Liv, was it?”  Charlie says, outstretching her arm to us as Cas nods once, “Let’s head out, these guys can catch us up.”  She inclines her head to the door, raising her eyebrows meaningfully, and although Cas misses the hint I certainly don’t. 

“Yeah,” I agree quickly, mentally telling Cas to go along with it and give the guys a moment alone.   “We already caught the live show earlier anyway,” I add cheekily, shooting a look at Sam to catch him blushing again. 

Cas follows Charlie out of the door and along the hallway, and suddenly I’m a little nervous and tongue-tied.  Charlie is so dorky but so awesome all at once and I’ve always really related to her; we’ve both lost our parents, in one way or another.  I’d love us to get on, to be friends, but now I can’t even think of what to say. 

“So you’re not from around here, huh?” she asks, breaking the silence.  I chuckle softly, Cas shaking our head as we continue down the corridor. 

**“You could say that.”**

“And the boys have no idea how to get you home?” she continues, turning her head to look at me with concern.  She needn’t really, from the tone of her voice I can tell she’s treading carefully, trying not to upset me… but honestly… I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.

Cas just shakes my head again.

“Well don’t worry, they’re smart cookies,” she reassures me kindly as we pass main reception and push through some panelled double doors into a bar, gambling machines playing loud and obnoxious tunes in the corner, “They’ll figure something out.” 

“I’m in no rush,” I tell her candidly, and for a split second she looks mildly surprised.  We slide into a booth so we’re sat opposite each other, and Charlie’s green eyes inspect me shrewdly.  “Sam and Dean are good guys.”  I try to make it sound innocent, like I’m not hanging around as an enabler to the love-sick Angel inside of me, but I must fail hideously because suddenly Charlie’s face splits into a wide grin.

“Ooohhh,” she says slowly, “Getting along with the Winchester boys huh?” 

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” I explain hurriedly, our cheeks turning pink.  It doesn’t seem like Dean wants anyone to know whatever’s going on between us right now, so I’d hate to be responsible for letting it slip. 

I can’t decide if it’s fortunate or not that the brothers are quick dressers; before anything more can be said they both appear, hovering over our empty table. 

“Drinks?” Sam offers, ever generous.

“You know what I’m having,” Dean answers quickly, sliding into the booth space next to me as Charlie and I both ask for Cola.

Charlie watches with one eyebrow raised as Dean gets settled, glancing from him to me to him again questioningly.  God damn it, why does she have to be so smart?

It all makes Cas very nervous of being found out or put on the spot so we end up shaking our head gently, silently pleading for her to not press any further.  It doesn’t help that Dean isn’t paying too much attention to personal space either, sliding in close enough that his warm thigh brushes against ours under the table.  Cas almost jumps with surprise, casting our gaze downward to look at where Dean’s denim meets ours and then looking back up to the green eyed Hunter, all gooey-eyed ourselves.  

Not that Dean pays much attention; as soon as Sam returns to the table, drinks in hand, it’s down to business. 

“Right, once more from the top,” he prompts, pressing his coffee cup to his lips and then preceding to blow.

In all honestly it’s really hard to concentrate after that; when Dean keeps knocking his leg back against ours playfully under the table, all serious poker face up top, everything else kind of pales in comparison.

Perhaps he was paying attention after all. 


	12. Chapter 12

Charlie tells us everything; about Oz, the Emerald City, the War that led to her splitting herself in two - one light and one dark - with help from the Inner key of Oz.  By the time she’s done explaining, twice over, I’ve more or less got my head around it. None of us can think of a solution to the problem though, especially since the only thing that can put them back together, the Key, is apparently broken. 

There’s also the slight issue that Charlie doesn’t seem to want anything to do with her ‘evil twin’ either.   

In the end the boys decide that we should focus on stopping dark Charlie from causing any more harm in the meantime and just hope that a solution will present itself in given time.  It sounds a little bit like winging it, if you ask me, but hey, I’m not the Hunter here.

“I’ll get some refills,” Dean announces, rising from the booth and leaving promptly for the bar.  Cas watches him go, studies the way he leans over the bar on his elbows, hands fisted by his mouth and frowning hard.  Sam and Charlie are chattering back and forth about something – it’s tech talk so it’s lost on me – but I’m too focused on Dean to really pay attention anyway.

**He looks troubled.**

Cas slips us out from the booth too.

“You alright?” Sam quickly checks as we stand, two pairs of eyes turning to us at once. 

**“Dean might need help,”** Cas quickly replies, pointing one of our fingers over to the bar.  Sam gives a slight nod, turning his attention back to the laptop screen, but it’s hard to miss the big grin that spreads across Charlie’s face at our eagerness to lend a hand.  God damn it.

Dean straightens up when he notices us approaching, unclenching his fists that were balled tight, the corners of his mouth pulling upward half-heartedly in greeting.  Cas stands us at a respectful distance from him, just close enough that our elbows would touch if we placed our arms on the bar too. 

“What’s up Frowny McFrownface?”  I ask playfully, trying to lift his mood, Cas tilting our head to the side to look at him.  He manages another apathetic smile and shrugs his shoulders, declining a reply and looking back to the bartender instead.

“What can I get you?”  she asks, leaning over the bar in a tank top and snug-fitting jeans.  She’s beautiful, unfortunately, and blatantly interested in the brooding, handsome man propping up her bar.  Cas seethes with ill-concealed jealousy. 

“Three Cola’s and an OJ,” he replies brusquely, neglecting his usually flirtatious manner.  The mild look of disappointment on the barmaids face mollifies Cas a little, and when she turns away to fetch the drinks I decide to try again. 

“A problem shared is a problem halved,” I recite with a cheesy grin, and this time he turns his head to look at me with an amused look, one eyebrow raised.  “Don’t make me crack out the ‘sharing is caring’ line, Dean, c’mon now,” I joke, our heart leaping happily when he laughs throatily and gives a small shake of his head. 

When his chuckling has faded Dean opens his mouth to speak, looking down at the bar and folding his arms to hold onto each of his elbows protectively, pauses, and then continues.

“D’you reckon Cas’ll be alright if he wakes up?  Y’know… without us there?” he asks, eyes flicking up to our face for just a moment before falling straight back to the bar.  Is that embarrassment I see flashing across his handsome face?

A lump forms in our throat as Castiel’s consciousness floods with feelings of love and gratitude, overwhelmed by Dean’s concern for him. 

**He’s worried about me?** It breaks my heart that Cas asks it as a question – isn’t it plain enough to see that he does? 

“You mean _when_ , not if,” I tell Dean gently, trying to think past the jumble of thoughts coming through from Cas.  Dean’s jaw clenches and he presses his lips together before looking back to us, hope gleaming in his eyes.  They look pale, like newly budded leaves in spring, and just as fragile.  “You know he’s tougher than he looks.”

“But without his Grace-“

“Dean.”  He sighs lightly, wets his lips.  “He’ll be fine.” 

**“And he’d appreciate your concern for him, if he knew,”** Cas adds, finally finding his tongue in the little pause that follows. 

“Yeah well, don’t go telling anyone.”  Dean finally smiles properly, his whole face lighting up as he does, and Cas grins back in reply, pleased that we’ve cheered him up even if it’s only temporary.   The barmaid returns with the drinks and Dean pulls a twenty from his front pocket, handing it over with a murmur to keep the change.  “They’ll think I’m getting soft.”

“Wouldn’t be the only secret I’m keeping,” I say meaningfully and Dean flashes us a playful wink as he lifts two of the glasses from the bar.  Cas takes the other two, heart fluttering as we follow after him back to the others. 

Charlie and Sam are both leant over the laptop when we return, absorbed in whatever they’re looking at.  It doesn’t take long, ten minutes tops, for Sam to deduce who dark Charlie will be aiming for next, research-whiz that he is, and good Charlie huddles close to look. 

“So this is him. This is the man who, uh…”  Charlie looks like she’s struggling again, the pure goodness of her totally ill at ease with the subject of conversation.

Dean plonks the glasses on the table and firmly shut the laptop in one fell swoop, Sam and Charlie looking up at him sharply when he does. 

“And you’re done.  Sam,” Dean beckons, cocking his head and pushing up off the table.  Sam starts to rise too but Charlie calls after them.

“Hey dudes.”  They pause, looking back at her, “Dudes.  Secrets are bad.” 

Ok, so I know it’s got nothing to do with what Dean and I were talking about, but I must admit it still makes me smirk. 

Dean draws in a breath, squaring his shoulders and looking serious.

“Charlie, I don’t think you should be anywhere near this piece of crap salesman.”

“And… and I don't think that finding dark Charlie and locking her up is gonna work. I mean, she may be… dark, but she's still a part of you,” Sam adds, horizontal lines of concern running across his forehead like train tracks. 

I send her a sympathetic look from over the table; I know what it’s like to have the two Winchester boys deciding they know what’s best for you, no arguments, and she pulls a slightly exasperated face back at me.  Finally she sighs and shrugs her shoulders.

“You're right. I hate it, but you're right.”  She must resign herself to the cause, because her next words sound much brighter, back to perky Charlie tone, “Okay. Let's go to the bunker. Baum used the key to Oz. Maybe there's something in the Men of Letters' files about the key. If we fix it, we can get back to Oz.”  The boys nod, and that’s the matter settled.

“All right, you guys dig into that. I'm gonna keep an eye on Russell and, uh . . . wait for dark Charlie to show up.”  Dean turns to leave, to pick up his jacket, but Sam speaks up.

“Are you sure?  Dean, maybe – maybe I should be the one…”  His tone is laced with badly concealed worry, and if I can pick up on it I’m sure Dean can too.  He’s really worried, isn’t he?  What happened earlier to make him so anxious? 

“No, no, no, no, no. I got it,” Dean insists, “It's, uh -- I just can't believe I have to… protect this piece of crap.”  The fact that he grimaces so hard after saying it doesn’t exactly do anything to reassure Sam of his good intentions, and he’s about to argue again when Cas interjects.

**“I’ll go with Dean,”** he volunteers.  Sam’s mouth shuts again, looking back at us hard, and I try to ignore the way Charlie has raised her eyebrows whilst sipping the last of her Cola. 

“Dean?” The younger brother checks hesitantly.

“Sure,” Dean confirms after a moment, “The more the merrier.”  Cas starts to get up immediately, feeling pleased that Dean is happy to bring us along for the ride. 

“Alright, just remember you’ve got to protect them both.  I mean, if dark Charlie gets hurt, then...” 

“So do I, so… be careful,” Charlie pleads with a hopeful smile.  Dean nods solemnly, frowning.

“Got it.”  He turns to leave, jacket in hand, “Come on, short stop.”  Cas follows dutifully behind, not sparing a backward glance for the two we’ve left behind. 

Somehow I get the feeling they’re talking about Dean as soon as we’re out of earshot, and from the grim look on his face I think Dean knows that too.

As we leave the motel Dean is grumbling under his breath,

“Those rookie mechanics better not have touched anything but the tyres…”  

* * *

 

Cas sits with our eyes closed, head tilted back against the passenger seat of the Impala, hands folded neatly in our lap.  We’ve been sat here for what feels like forever, though I’m fairly sure that’s just my tendency for exaggeration making it seem that way.

The dull, droning voice coming from the meditation tape Dean’s playing on repeat has reduced the passage of time to a slow crawl.  Each breathing exercise is a test of my patience, the way it goes on and on, and instead of relaxing me as it should I can feel myself becoming increasingly irritable. 

The repetitive crunch of almonds being crushed between Dean’s molars doesn’t help to break the monotony either.  

I sigh heavily.

“Want one?”  Dean asks.  Cas opens our eyes to find Dean thrusting the tub our way with raised eyebrows, jaw working hard on his current mouthful.

**“No, thank you,”** Cas replies politely and Dean withdraws the offer, dumping them down onto the seat between us instead.

“Yeah… they suck,” he mutters belligerently.  A few more moments pass, Cas closing our eyes again.  He seems to be able to block out the tape better than I can.  His calm serenity is in total dichotomy to my longing to start peeling our off skin just for something to do.

 “The key to quieting your mind, is minding your quiet. Know and understand the lack of an answer is –“

Dean violently ejects the tape, startling us with his sudden movement, and then throws the tape into the box of almonds.

“Oh thank fuck for that!” I exclaim, my loud shout of relief startling Dean, too.  He looks back at me, wide-eyed and shocked as the car becomes blissfully silent, and then we’re both laughing.  Full on, head-thrown-back laughing, till our ribs hurt and tears are streaming from our eyes.  It wasn’t even that funny but we don’t let that stop us, giving in entirely to the rare, care-free moments that life gifts us. 

**“It’s good to see you laughing, Dean,”** Cas tells him, having managed to regain composure far faster than the man sat next to us.  Dean looks back to us, chest bouncing with laughter that begins to fade as Cas speaks.  **“You deserve to be happy.”**

Dean’s one hand clenches the wheel absent-mindedly as his sparkling eyes track our face, his expression doing all the talking for him. 

‘Why do you care so much?’ it asks with a crinkling of his brow, ‘You barely know me.’

“Sam, too,” I add for good measure, “You two work your asses off for the world and no one even says thank you.” 

A dark and cynical smile contorts Dean’s lips for a moment but it falls away as quickly as it came when Cas slides a hand from our lap, across the warm black leather, and rests it on top of his. 

Dean almost immediately turns that hand over, the coarseness of his fingertips tickling our palm, and winds his fingers around our wrist.  His large grasp encircles the slender limb easily, with room for more. 

Cas licks our lips in anticipation of the Hunter’s next move; he’s learnt what this palpable thickness to the air means now.  We’ve felt it before. 

Dean pulls, not roughly but still hard enough that we tip forward and into him, chest hitting his and face tilted upward for the kiss that was waiting.  Somewhere amongst the fall Cas threw a hand out to brace ourselves and now it rests on Dean’s meaty thigh, squeezing encouragingly when Dean’s tongue licks tentatively at the corner of our mouth.

The nervous haste that coloured all of Cas’ movements before seems to have lessened now that we’ve done this a few times.  He moves us at a far more leisurely pace, taking his time before allowing the kiss to deepen. 

Dean lets go of our wrist and wraps his arm around our waist to slide us across the slip leather still left between our bodies.  He doesn’t break the press of our open mouths, not when his thumb traces the line of our cheekbone, or when his fingers become tangled in our hair.  He kisses back languidly, permitting the slow and thorough exploration of the tongue that once belonged to me.

When Cas finally ends the kiss, heart thundering inside our chest, neither man is eager to pull away.  Dean’s nose slots against the side of ours, both hands in our hair now, and when he breathes out a soft sigh it’s warm against our cheek.

I can’t even begin to decode what that breathy sigh means.  What any of this means, in fact.  All I know is that there’s a quiet peacefulness that seems to settle over all three of us when we’re in Dean’s arms, a feeling of contentment that’s as pleasant as it is addictive.  Surely it can’t be a bad thing?

Cas cautiously opens our eyes to sneak a peek at Dean.  The view somewhat limited, what with his face pressed to ours, but by resting us forehead to forehead instead Cas is able to note a few of the features that he’s come to adore even more now he’s seen them up close.  Dean’s long, fawny eyelashes, the tiny bump halfway down his nose.  His freckles…

Cas sighs too, gazing at those freckles.  He presses our fingertips to them, feather light touch dancing from spot to spot, and Dean’s eyes open to look back at ours with an adorably coy smile.  Up close that pale grasshopper green is really a sight to behold, especially when they’re twinkling with happiness as they are now. 

**“You’re beautiful,”** Cas whispers, every syllable coated with adoration as it falls from our lips.  Dean’s head tilts as he gives a hesitant laugh, eyes falling to his lap.  He’s clearly not comfortable with loving sentiment that sounds so sincere. 

“I don’t know about-“

**“Wellington,”** Cas suddenly says, our gaze flicking past Dean’s face toward the movement he’d noted in the parking lot. 

“What?”  Dean asks, momentarily blind-sided.  Cas drops our hands from his face to sit up straight, allowing Dean to twist round and follow our eye line. 

**“Russell Wellington,”** Cas clarifies again, though Dean’s probably figured that out for himself on seeing the middle-aged man clamber from his sports car. 

“That car’s ridiculous,” I murmur as we watch him slam shut the gullwing doors, “Think he’s compensating for something?”  Dean smirks in reply, one hand back on the steering wheel and clenching it hard as Mr Wellington retreats into the building. 

When he’s finally disappeared from sight Dean turns back around to face us, one hand already on the door handle, all business again.

“Ok, you stay here, I’ll-“

**“No,”** Cas says firmly, cutting him off, and once again Dean looks a little taken aback.

“’Scuse me?” he questions, his chin tilting downward while his eyebrows go the opposite way, as though he’d simply misinterpreted Cas’ blunt ‘no’. 

“Look, Dean, whether you like it or not it seems like I’m gonna be sticking around for a while,” I tell him curtly, mimicking his raised eyebrows, challenging.

“I-I never said I-“

“So you may as well suck it up and put me to work.” 

Cas exits the car before Dean can say any more, pauses to stretch out our aching limbs and then circles to the driver’s side.  When Dean starts to climb out too Cas is oddly chivalrous, holding open the door for him despite quizzical look that gets shot our way. 

“Don’t think this means you’re getting your way all the time,” Dean grumbles, straightening out his jacket as Cas swings the door shut.

**“I wouldn’t dare make such bold presumptions,”** Cas replies, and I don’t need to be the one moving our mouth to know that the smile that’s sent Dean’s way is a very self-satisfied one. 

For all the huffing going on Dean somehow ends up smiling, if a little reluctantly. 

“Besides, you need me in there,” I say teasingly as we approach the white walled building, walking in step. “Do you even _know_ what escrow is?” 

Dean swivels his head to look down at us, highly disgruntled.

“Yes I know what god damn escrow is,” he snaps, his ferocity slipping when Cas holds up our hands in an attempt to appease him, “Smart ass.” 

Cas just grins all the more, amused by mine and Dean’s back and forth.

**“What’s our cover?”** Cas asks as we near the doors, our pace slowing.

“I’ll be Mr Presley,” Dean begins and then pauses, glancing over to us, “And, uh, you be Mrs Presley, I guess.” Considering he had his tongue halfway down our throat less than 5 minutes ago Dean sure is bashful about a fake marriage.

Cas, meanwhile, is thrilled at being given the perfect excuse to act exactly as one would in an established relationship.  He quickly takes Dean’s hand in ours and threads our fingers together in a tight grip, grinning from ear to ear as Dean stares dumbly down at where we’re joined. 

“Oh Dean,” I sigh wistfully, jumping on any opportunity to tease him further and get that pale pink blush of his to appear, “It’s all happening so fast.” 

I swear I hear Dean mumble something akin to ‘you suck’ down to the floor before he simultaneously looks up and clears his throat, bracing himself for the act to come.    His eyes flicker to us as we get to the entrance and as he reaches for the handle with his free hand he plasters his face with the falsest smile I’ve ever seen.  

Seriously, just looking at him is making my cheeks hurt.

“Thank you baby,” I say as we walk through the door he’s held open for us, lacing my voice with sugary sweetness and having to hold back a giggle when Dean’s look turns briefly withering.  We approach the desk, still hand in hand, and when we’re greeted by the receptionist Cas places our other hand over the top too, completely encircling Dean’s. 

I have to remind Cas to pull it back a little when he starts leaning our head against Dean’s arm too.  Hand-holding is one thing, but there’s no need to go rotting anyone’s teeth. 

Thankfully it seems as though the receptionist is as much of a hopeless romantic as Cas is.  The pretty blonde inclines her head and soundlessly scrunches up her nose at us as Dean concentrates on signing us in as ‘Mr and Mrs Presley’ in his scrawly handwriting. Cas just scrunches our nose back, smiling maniacally, and when Dean notices he can’t help but roll his eyes. 

PDA is clearly not his thing. 

“There might be a bit of a wait without an appointment,” the receptionist warns with an apologetic face after she checks our names against the list on her computer.  Dean smiles agreeably. 

“No worries.” 

“We’ll find a way to amuse ourselves,” I tell her before Dean can wriggle away, playing up my role as much as possible and delighting in the way it makes him squirm, “What is it you say sweetie?” 

Dean jaw clenches as he fights to keep his expression pleasant, squeezing our hand hard in his. 

“I don’t know _honey_ , what is it I say?” 

“No time spent together is ever wasted,” I grin, and it’s so saccharine that even I’m fighting the urge to gag.  Dean looks like he wants to curl into a ball on the floor and die. 

“Right.”  That’s all he manages to get out, and even the receptionist looks like she’s holding back a laugh, one finely manicured fingernail pressed to her lips. 

Dean turns on his heels, pink from his head to his toes, and pulls us hastily toward the seating area, murmuring darkly under his breath.  He flops down onto the black leather and Cas sits us delicately beside him, transferring our hand from Dean’s sweating palm to his twitching leg, settling in for a long wait.

Dean grabs a magazine from the table next to us and hides his flushing face behind it as Cas stares at the landscape photograph on the opposite wall; it’s a very pleasant beach in Tahiti, or so he tells me. 

Dean’s barely turned two pages when he tilts his head in our direction and hisses;

“You are _such_ a pain in the ass.” 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, I did it! *celebratory dance* It took 3 months but I think I've FINALLY broken through my block. Enjoy :)

We’ve been sat in the waiting area less than thirty minutes when I feel Dean starting to succumb to restlessness.  He shifts from side to side, the black leather seat underneath him creaking under his weight, and drums his fingertips against his knees in time to the tinny music playing quietly in the lobby.  The golfing magazine he’d started flipping through had been abandoned within minutes.

I can’t say I’m feeling much better.  Cas sits us perfectly still, one leg crossed over the other just because I’d insisted he did so, but inside I’m just as agitated.  It seems that neither of us is particularly good at this subtle stake-out thing.    

“Dean,” I say, practically whispering. 

I’m painfully aware that the individuals sat either side us look very well-to-do, with their tailored suits and stiletto shoes, and I’m somewhat loathe to disturb them or call unnecessary attention to ourselves if I can help it.  I mean, not that they haven’t already ran their eyes over us in distaste; Dean’s muddy boots and my baggy sweater aren’t exactly haute-couture.  I seem to be alone in my self-consciousness, though.  Dean looks as relaxed as ever, impatience aside, chin held aloft as he surveys the room. 

“Dean,” I beckon again, a little louder this time.  Clearly he didn’t hear me before. 

“Hmm?” he replies, tilting his head vaguely in our direction.

“Pass me a magazine?”

He turns to the side and begins to rummage through them noisily, covers flapping and slapping against each other and the glass table.   I catch the woman opposite us glance over past the top of her phone, and though she looks initially disgruntled by Dean’s uncouth behaviour her expression soon morphs into leering admiration when she’s introduced to Dean’s smile. 

Unfortunately for her that wide grin of his is directed entirely our way as he hands over a dog-eared issue of Cosmopolitan.  Cas flips it over in our hands as I wonder why on earth Dean looks so pleased with himself; I hardly think it has anything to with the image of Hilary Duff emblazoned across the cover. 

He leans towards us conspiringly, our breath quickening as the personal space between us shrinks.

“Might give you some tips,” he smirks, tapping his finger smartly on the bold pink font in the top left corner. 

Cas turns our head to look where Dean’s pointing and reads aloud;

**“1o ways to please your man in bed.”**

The businessman next to us coughs, smothering something that sounds like a laugh as I die with shame inside.  Cas had no such inclination to whisper the way I had earlier, unfortunately, and Dean’s finding it hilarious.  He’s pursing his lips together to stop himself from laughing, eyes twinkling with mischief, but Cas is too busy tilting our head and reading the sub-heading over and over again – ‘Find out the 10 sex cravings all guys have’.

**“Was our sexual encounter not satisfactory, Dean?”**  Cas asks, forthright as always, and his tone would sound accusatory if I couldn’t feel the anxiety inside of him.  He’s truly concerned that Dean’s pointed out this particular article because we didn’t do a good enough job last time, and Cas’ hurt must show on my face because Dean’s smile starts to falter. 

“No,” Dean replies, too quick and too loud and Cas gets the wrong idea again, lowering our head to look at the magazine again, crestfallen.  Dean shifts closer so both his shoulder and thigh meet ours, glancing around.  No one’s paying us any mind anymore, re-absorbed in whatever they’re doing, but his voice is still hushed when he speaks again. 

“I didn’t mean…” he starts, then hesitates as Cas lifts our head to look back at him quizzically.   His mouth quirks into a halfway smile as he exhales heavily, right before he reaches over to tuck my hair behind my ear.  The gentleness of the gesture takes me by surprise, heart thudding inside our chest.  “I had a great time last night.”

**“You did?”** Cas asks quietly.  Dean chuckles in response. 

“Couldn’t you tell?”  He cocks his head to the side, hand lowering to rest on our leg that’s crossed over the other, and finally Cas starts to smile shyly back at him.

**“I suppose…”**

“Dork,” Dean teases good-naturedly, still laughing breathily, the corners of his eyes crinkling.  He leans forward and places a firm kiss to our forehead and as he pulls away Cas can’t help but take advantage of his close proximity, stealing a quick kiss on the lips too. 

Despite the blatant public displays of affection Dean is still smiling affectionately as he leans back into his chair, unconcerned.  He makes to take the offending magazine away, to swap it with another, but Cas quickly moves it out of his reach. 

**“This might be… informative,”** Cas admits coyly, flipping open the cover and quickly sourcing the appropriate page as Dean’s grin only grows.  Cas starts to read, concentrating hard, his voice speaking the words aloud in our head.

**Finding the male g-spot – This potent pleasure point is located by gradually inserting your finger, or fingers, into the anus and –**

It’s not even like I can tell him to keep it to himself, our head is one and the same.  And man, he’s not shy about sharing the smutty mental images that crop up with each and every word.  Suddenly all the air-con in the world couldn’t ease the flush that’s creeping up from our toes and furling in our belly at the thought of Dean face-down on a bed, legs spread, ass in the air and…  

Jesus, Cas!

* * *

 

The afternoon passes at a slow crawl, ‘musak’ slowly driving me to insanity as Dean chivalrously let’s everyone else in the waiting room go in before us; even those who arrived hours after we did.  It hasn’t been all that bad, actually; Dean found an issue of Good Housekeeping with some interesting looking recipes inside.  He and Cas had had a long conversation about the intricacies of homemade burger relishes which I tuned out of, obviously.  I’ve been known to set a pan on fire just trying to boil some water - yeah, my cooking is so bad it actually defies science.

As interesting as debating the difference between pickle and chutney was, eventually we were the only ones left in the waiting room and our meeting with Mr Wellington could be put off no longer.  We let Dean take the lead, playing the doting and submissive wife – easily done when Cas hangs off his every word – and though he gives it his best shot, talking about high vaulted ceilings and Jacuzzis… we’re not fooling anyone. 

“Uh, Mr. Presley, look, I'm just gonna stop you right there,” Russel begins impatiently, stopping Dean mid-monologue by raising his hand, “Judging from your cheap shoes and your wife’s polyester sweater and poor haircut, I'm guessing the only house you're in the market for comes with wheels.”

Despite already knowing that this guy is a classic douchebag I can’t ignore the stab of hurt that comes at his words as Cas reflexively looks down at our lap and tugs at the hem of the sweater I’d liked so much back in the store.  Does it really look that cheap? 

Dean must have picked up on my spark of insecurity even from the other side of the room.  He doesn’t let his insincere demeanour for Mr Wellington slip, but Dean walks back over to where we’re sat and slips his hand into the back of our hair to rub our scalp reassuringly, flashing a small, genuine smile our way.  He really can be so sweet sometimes…

“Now, look, I'm a busy man. My time is extremely valuable. I prefer not to have it wasted by some hayseed,” Russel continues, and I can tell Dean really has to restrain himself from punching the guy in the face.  The deep inhale and clenched fist at his side gives him away.

**Can I punch him instead?** I smirk, glad that Cas is getting just as pissed off as the rest of us by this smarmy bastard. 

“I'm willing to buy if you're willing to sell. So why don't you show me what you got?” Dean tries again, attempting to save this lost cause, but when Russel starts reaching for his phone we all know that this rouse isn’t going to last any longer.

“Well, I can show you the door.”  Before Russel can finish dialling Dean swiftly cuts off the call, finally letting that painful smile drop.  “Who the hell do you think you are?”  I’ve got to hand it to him; Russel is a braver man than I.  I wouldn’t be speaking like that someone wearing the expression Dean is right now.  Now that the pretence has been dropped he just looks entirely pissed, and I can’t say I blame him. 

“He’s the guy who’s gonna save your life,” I say smarmily.

“Excuse me?” God this guy’s a dick. 

“Hill and Oak Street. Station wagon with a man and a woman in it, on their way to pick up their little daughter from a slumber party.”  Dean pauses, sitting himself on the arm of our chair, and in just these few seconds you can see horrified realisation dawning in his eyes.  “That ring a bell?” 

“I-I-I-I don't know what you're talking about,” Russel stutters, skilfully avoiding any eye contact by arranging the papers on his desk. 

**Pathetic**.  Cas folds our hands together in our lap, squeezing hard as wrathful anger starts to flare inside him as well.  Bad enough that Russel did what he did… but to sit here playing dumb?

“Oh, no, you wouldn't, 'cause you were too drunk to remember anything that night.”

“I think you have me confused with somebody else.” He’s trying to stay calm, collected, by the slight quiver in his voice belays his guilt; bolshie attitude or not. 

**“Someone that cares?”** Cas snaps as he leans us forward in our seat.  

“Or maybe somebody who wouldn't pay people off to cover up manslaughter.”  Dean’s voice is becoming increasingly harsh, his temper flaring.

Cas, you need to stay in control here, you can’t let him –

“You’re both insane!” Russel practically shouts, bracing himself on the arms of his desk chair.   

Just as he’s about to stand, red with bluster and outrage, the lights suddenly go out.  For a split second we’re plunged into total black and that innate and irrational fear of the dark makes our chest clench tight, Cas reaching out for Dean like a reflex, but a second is all it lasts before the emergency lighting thankfully kicks in.

“What the hell is going on?” Russel asks, sinking back into his seat, the first flecks of fear starting to creep in. 

“Stay here,” Dean instructs firmly, pointing his finger, “Do not leave this room.”

As he turns to leave Cas rises too, something that Dean quickly picks up on.  “You too.”  We don’t even get chance to open our mouth to argue before the Hunter quickly shakes his head, his expression telling us that there’ll be no getting our way this time.   “I mean it,” he adds, and I can’t tell if that was meant for me or for Russel. 

Cas settles for leaning us against the bookcase as Dean stalks out, shutting the door firmly behind him, and as Russel pointlessly tries the phone Cas folds our arms across our chest, shaking our head with exasperation. 

**“That’s pointless,”** he tells Russel bluntly, irritated by the persistent, panicky click of the receiver.  Russel sighs heavily, slamming it back down, helpless.  **“Do as you’re told and you might get out of here alive.”**

“Who the hell are you guys anyway?” the suited executive hisses, leaning forward across his desk. 

“Doesn’t matter,” I dismiss, “Just be glad we’re on your side.”  He flops back into his chair, running a hand through his short grey hair.  “Not that you deserve it,” I add, unable to help myself.  I can’t believe this guy; this pathetic, cowardly dickwad, he took Charlie’s parents away.  Awesome, sweet Charlie. 

**“I can’t hear anything…”**  Cas murmurs under our breath, looking back to the door.  I can feel his unease growing inside.  The more time that passes the more Cas comes closer to going out there himself, compelled to make sure that Dean’s ok. 

The door swings open not a moment too soon, taking us all by surprise and making Cas stand us up bolt straight when Charlie saunters inside.  She fixes Russel in a bored stare, pausing in the doorway for effect. 

“Celeste,” Russel falters, looking from his desk to her to us and back again. 

**Where’s Dean…?**

“No-one’s called me that in a long, long time,” she drawls, surprisingly calm.  She looks over at us for a split second, one eyebrow quirking at our unfamiliarity, but when Russel starts to speak again, rising from his seat, he draws her attention back. 

“Uh… I am so sorry. What I did – it… I was young. I was stupid. What I took, I… I can never give back to you. But what I did after the accident; that never should have happened.” 

I’ll be damned, he actually sounds genuine.

**It’s about time.**

“And I wasn't drunk for that. I was stone-cold sober. It was selfish… and wrong. And I should pay for it. And I will pay for it.”  Charlie takes a few steps further into the room as Russel apologises, tears collecting in his eyes, but her expression barely changes.  That, in itself, is worrying, and I can feel Cas readying himself, getting ready to move quickly should we need to.  It’s good to know I’m not the only one getting the heebs from her.   

“You took everything from me.”

“Please… Celeste… I am so sorry,” he implores.  There’s a long pause where neither says a word, our eyes darting between the two, and then Charlie slowly looks over her shoulder – to Dean?

“Russel?”  she begins slowly, “I forgive you.” 

Mr Wellington bursts into relieved tears; but I’m not fooled.  I’ve seen enough fake smiles today to know one when I see it, which is why when she turns and slams the door, locking it and making a grab for Russel’s letter-opener – Cas and I are already there. 

Surprise flickers across her expression as we grab her outstretched arm, bringing her to a complete stop with Cas’ strength.  Russel’s scrambling under his desk, Dean is banging on the door, but all Charlie does is smile, mouth twisting unpleasantly. 

“Well, well, well,” she says quietly, “Not quite the wilting wallflower you look, are you?”

She swings for us, free arm snapping back to deliver a blow aimed straight at our face.  Cas mercifully gets hold of her before she can follow through, scrambling for a good grip as the office door starts to crack beneath the weight of Dean’s frantic blows.  The woman struggles, roaring, feisty and full of rage, no doubt confused at how a woman even smaller and slighter than her is rendering her almost helpless.  At a loss for what to do, and with the knowledge that Dean will soon break in, Cas throws Charlie across the room like a doll, clean out the of window in a blur of broken glass, black and red.

We quickly round the desk and peer out for her in the darkness but she’s long gone, a dent in the bushes outside the only evidence of her fall. 

**She’s fast, I’ll give her that.**

Cas… that was so – badass!  Our chest heaves, adrenaline bounding through our veins, and I swear I’ve never felt so high in my life.  That felt amazing.  Not just the raw physical power, but being able to act, unthinkingly, to protect another human being.  Save someone; even a jackass like Wellington. 

The door finally gives and Dean comes barrelling in, red faced and breathing hard, eyes wide and wild as he scans the room.  His gaze immediately finds us, and without checking for Charlie or for Russel – who’s still cowering under his desk – he crosses the threshold in giant strides till he’s stood so close we’re almost touching chests. 

**“Dean** -“ Cas begins, extending our arm to start explaining the broken window and Charlie’s absence, but Dean cuts him off, taking our face in both hands as he checks for damage. 

“You alright?  She hurt you?” he asks breathily, and though he’s worried, his eyes darting to and fro, we can’t help but smile at his concern.   

**“I’m fine,”** Cas reassures, tiling our head into his large, calloused palm, **“Honestly.”** We take a moment to indulge, eyes flickering closed for just a second as Dean runs his thumbs along our cheekbones, but too soon the moment is over and his touch is gone, satisfied we’re in one piece.  I swear Cas’ ache for the man is so strong that I can actually feel the hollowness in our stomach. 

“Wellington?” Dean calls gruffly, looking around the office, and after a moment of rustling a grey-haired head appears between the desk and abandoned chair. 

For a moment I almost pity him; he’s clearly been crying his eyes out under there. 

“She got away?” he asks hesitantly, checking the room as he emerges with shaking hands and knees, suit crumpled and creased.  Cas counts our blessings that he didn’t see ‘my’ impressive feat of strength.    

**“I think my being here threw her,”** Cas lies and I have to hold back a snort of laughter.  Yeah, Charlie was thrown alright.  **“She made a run for it.”**  He inclines our head toward the window and Dean approaches the frame, peering outside too, careful not to cut himself on any of the remaining glass shards. 

When he’s satisfied there’s no sign of her his shoulders sag, sighing and turning back to Russel.

“You got some place you can go for a couple days?  You need to lay low,” Dean tells him gruffly, toeing the carpet.  He’s clearly frustrated that she got away and trying his best to not let it get to him. 

“Yes… yeah. I – uh… I can do that,” Russel agrees quickly.  He grabs his briefcase from beside his chair, sniffing roughly as he does so, and when he straightens up he looks back and forth between the two of us.  “Thank you.”  He gives us a nod of his head, one that Cas returns, but Dean only shrugs. 

“Just get outta here.”  Russel doesn’t need to be told twice; he turns and leaves in a hurry, and within a minute the sound of him roaring away in that tacky sports car rumbles through the room. 

**“Dean,”** Cas says softly when he fails to say anything, staring out of the broken window with his jaw clenched tight, **“We’ll find her.”**  

We approach him cautiously from behind and reach out, curling one arm around his waist so we’re chest to back, face pressed to his shoulder blade to seek his warmth and touch, hoping to soothe whatever has rendered him silent and stoic.  Cas presses little kisses to his jacket, nuzzling our nose into the material, and eventually Dean sags against us with another quiet sigh. 

He turns slightly, just enough to lean down and find our lips with his.  It’s the gentlest of kisses, so tender it’s almost chaste, but the way it lingers leaves us breathless and swallowing hard when he pulls away.  He’s a master of seduction, at least when it comes to Cas, giving just enough to leave us wanting more and more. 

“We’ll head back to the motel,” he mumbles, but mumbling is fine because even he’s so close even the quietest of whispers would still be heard, “Call Sam and Charlie.”  His nose rubs back and forth against ours, slow, and he steals another kiss between his words.  Cas is practically melting on the spot.  “Figure it out.” He pulls away and makes for the door, Cas opening our eyes that I hadn’t even realised we’d closed.  “You coming, little lady?” Dean asks, smiling, head cocked to the side.  We smile back, giddy, heart fluttering with happiness.

**“Of course.”**


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this, another chapter, already?! 
> 
> YES! YES THERE IS! *very smug* 
> 
> This one is sort of smutty filler to be honest, but hey, I love it.

Cas is oddly quiet on the short drive back to the motel.  It’s almost like he’s purposefully trying not to share his thoughts inside this shared head of ours, though with the way he keeps glancing over at Dean every few seconds it’s not exactly hard to figure out who he’s thinking about. 

**Olivia?**

Liv.

Cas shifts our body in the seat, as if nervous, and the little movement catches in the periphery of Dean’s vision.  His eyes flick over to us.

“Y’alright?”

**“Fine, thank you,”** Cas answers reflexively, shooting a smile Dean’s way then turning our face to look out of the window to continue our internal dialogue undisturbed.

**Liv, does it always feel… is it always this…**

Cas, c’mon, there’s nothing we don’t share.  Just spit it out. 

Another uncomfortable shift of our body, Cas playing with the seam of our sleeve.

**Relationships. Social interaction with humans.  It’s all – it’s all still new to me.  Sometimes I don’t know what to expect… what’s normal to feel.**

I just stay quiet, letting the Angel get off whatever’s on his chest without interruption. 

**Loving someone… being in love. I know that’s what this feeling is, but is it always so –** he struggles with the words for a moment **– intense?**

I can’t help but smile fondly at our faint reflection in the car window at how pure and innocent he sounds. 

First loves are always a little overwhelming. 

**I’d thought it was unbearable when I couldn’t touch him but now I have…**

Cas turns our head to look at the Hunter whose eyes are trained solely on the road, his forefinger tapping lightly on the steering wheel to the Led Zeppelin track turned down low.  Instantly I can feel Cas’ desire and longing unfurling in our stomach, hot and heavy.  There’s no need for him to explain; the urge to be near Dean, to be as close as can be - overwhelming isn’t a good enough word for it.  It’s like we want to crawl under his skin.  Even then I’m not sure that’d be enough.

It’s so bad that Cas has to pull our eyes away again, unable to hold back the heavy sigh that escapes our lips. 

**I want to have his hands on us all the time.  It’s disconcerting.**

Oh honey, you’ve got it so bad.   

**This is normal?  I feel like I’m losing my mind.**

Temporary insanity kinda comes with the territory when it comes to love, unfortunately. Welcome to the human condition. 

**It’s… unsettling.  How do you ever get anything done?**

Not everyone has someone like Dean around. 

Cas swivels in our seat again – honestly, he’s being such a fidget – and instinctively crosses our legs toward Dean, leaning our head back on the smooth leather to fully appreciate just how distractingly handsome he is.  He doesn’t bother hiding his thoughts anymore, freely sharing all he feels as our eyes drift over the others face; Dean’s sharp jawline, his lips partly pursed in concentration. 

We barely notice when we pull into the motel parking lot until Dean announces we’ve arrived.  Dutifully we follow him back to our shared room, walking slightly behind so we can watch him all the more, Cas tilting our head and smiling a secret smile at the characteristic bow in Dean’s legs as he murmurs something about needing another coffee.

When we’re safely behind locked doors Dean pulls his phone from his pocket and dials Sam’s number, shucking off his jacket and carelessly tossing it onto the chair in the corner while it rings.

“Sam, hey.”  Dean puts the phone on speaker as he places it on the bedside table and sits himself on the bed, only a foot or so from where Cas perched us moments earlier. 

“Dean. Hey, hold on. I'm putting you on speaker.”  There’s a moment of rustling before Sam speaks again. “What happened?”

“You want the good news or the bad news?” Dean asks wearily, rubbing a hand through the back of his hair.  Cas ogles Dean’s bicep as he moves, swallowing hard at the sight of all that taut muscle under smooth skin.  That longing to be attached at the hip really hasn’t gotten any less, especially now that we’re all alone and in close quarters.

“Uh – good news, I guess,” Sam replies, sounding concerned.  Cas scoots over on the bed to close the gap between Dean’s leg and ours.  It provides a momentary distraction from whatever’s making Dean look so troubled; his cocky grin shines bright as soon as our legs meet.

“Russel’s alive.”  Taking the smile as encouragement Cas cautiously places one of our small hands into the back of Dean’s hair, where his own was a moment ago, and begins to rub gently at his scalp.  It’s surprisingly soft.

“Oh good!” Charlie chirps over the sounds of an engine; they must’ve left the bunker already.  Dean tilts his head back into Cas’ touch, that smile on his lips stretching wider and his own hand coming to rest on our thigh, squeezing lightly as Sam speaks again.

“What’s the bad news?” 

Dean’s touch has an instantaneous effect; heat ignites in our core, white and blinding, and before Dean can utter a reply Cas has fixed our lips to his carotid pulse.  That hand that had been caressing Dean’s scalp slides downward to grip the back of his neck, hard, fixing him in place.   

Gentle, Cas, don’t throttle him. 

“Uh-“Dean falters breathily as Cas kisses his sensitive skin, open-mouthed, relaxing his over-enthusiastic grip.  “He – uh, she… Charlie, she got away.”

“Shit,” Sam sighs.  Dean’s hand slides back and forth along our thigh encouragingly, eyes closed, head lolling to the side as he enjoys Cas’ loving care, and I think it’s safe to presume he’s not really paying attention to this conversation anymore.  But then again neither are we; Cas is too busy letting our other hand roam down Dean’s stomach.  He fiddles with the hem of his grey t-shirt, intentionally brushing against the skin underneath to make him squirm. 

“It’s not your fault, Dean, don’t worry,” Charlie assures him.  She must have taken his silence as an admission of guilt, none the wiser to Dean’s total preoccupation with the way our lips are working their way toward the corner of his mouth. 

“Uh-huh,” Dean manages to agree as Cas fixes his bottom lip between our teeth with a growl.  He paws at Dean’s half-hard cock through his jeans, palming it roughly, and Dean can’t help but flex his hips into it.  “Liv…” he whispers in a half-hearted, breathless warning. 

Dean stares, green eyes wide, as Cas slides from the bed to kneel on the hard floor between his knees and stares right back. We’ve left a hickey on his neck; a dark red circle just under his right ear that Cas’ is startlingly pleased by the sight of. 

**Mine.**

Cas has a possessive streak, apparently, and as if to prove me right he starts groping Dean again; one hand on his cock, one digging our fingernails into his thigh and all of it through infuriatingly thick layers of denim. 

God, I hadn’t realised just how wet we were until we moved, the warm slick smearing along our underwear at the mere thought of what Cas has in mind as he nuzzles our face against the inside of Dean’s thigh.    

“All right, let's try and stick to the plan, guys,” Sam says.  Dean can’t take his eyes off us, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he nods absent-mindedly at the phone. 

**“Did you find a way back to Oz?”** Cas enquires, the tone of my voice sugar sweet and innocent as he flips open the button fly of Dean’s jeans, smirking smugly at the flush of red across the Hunter’s cheeks.    

Not shy anymore, are you Cas?

Dean holds his breath as we sneak one of our delicate hands into his boxers to set him free. Now it’s us licking our lips as we take in every inch of his cock with greedy eyes, the sight of him leaking pre-cum getting us all the wetter too.  I can practically feel our mouth filling with saliva in anticipation.

“Uh, look, the Man of Letters who originally found the key -- he's still alive.”  Cas chooses the precise moment when Sam speaks again to lap the flat of our tongue along the length of Dean’s shaft.

“Jesus,” he groans, momentarily forgetting himself as the muscle in his thigh twitches.  Cas works our way up as Dean tries to collect himself, blinking hard, his eyes flicking between the phone and the pornographic image between his legs.  “Good.  That’s…”  He swallows hard.  “That’s good,” Dean replies, thick and husky, as his hand findings its way into our hair. 

“He lives in Junction City under the name Michael Carter. I'll text you the address.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean agrees, voice hitching higher as Cas flicks our tongue along his slit to collect the bead of pre-cum that had started to seep downward.  Fuck, he tastes so good, and I don’t know if it’s because of Cas’ heightened senses or what, but Dean’s natural masculine scent is just irresistible.

“Just come meet us.” 

Not until he comes here first. 

There’s a mental murmur of agreement in my head from Cas; he’s as eager to taste more of Dean as I am.  He’s busy dipping the tip of our tongue in and out of Dean’s slit, fisting the base of his cock and absolutely revelling in the way the man’s hips are squirming against the mattress as he tries not to make a sound. 

“Sure, yeah,” Dean agrees breathlessly, “We’ll be right there.”

The call disconnects with an audible double bleep which Cas takes as our cue.  He kneels up off our heels and grips each side of Dean’s denim-bound hips to sink our mouth onto his cock in one smooth motion, past my gag reflex, so deep that our chin scrapes against his jeans.

“Shit,” Dean curses, his hand tightening its grip in our hair as he fights to keep from thrusting upward too.  Not that he could get any deeper anyway; not needing to breathe has its perks when it comes to giving head.  Cas pulls back, teeth grazing gently along the way, and then plunges down again.  And again. And again.  “So good.” 

I don’t know what Cas has been watching, but he’s amazing at this.  The way he circles our tongue around the super-sensitive rim, little fingers rolling and squeezing Dean’s balls… he’s incredible; Dean’s pretty mouth confirms it with every groan that tumbles out.  

Within minutes he’s so far gone that his self-control falters, lost in the sensation, grabbing at our hair and pumping in and out in quick, unrestrained succession.  Saliva dribbles from our well-fucked mouth and pools in his crotch.  I give a strangled moan of pleasure and he manages to pull it back, slowing his pace.

“Sorry… sorry,” he mumbles as he almost lets go of our hair, unable to trust himself.  Cas grabs his hand and pushes it back where it was, looking up at him through our heavy-lidded eyes.  

**“Don’t stop,”** he pleads, my voice thick with lust and our lips spit-slick and swollen.  Dean twists his fingers between the dark strands, both hands now, to cradle each side of our head and Cas waits with our mouth gaping open till Dean himself guides us slowly down onto his cock, unable to look away.  He’s careful this time, thrusting a slow and steady rhythm as his chest heaves from ragged breaths, deep-throating him again and again.  Cas stares back, taking in every detail of Dean’s wanton appearance; the sweat collecting at his hairline, his dilated pupils, his pulse bounding in his neck. 

Dean doesn’t give us warning before he cums.  One moment he’s thrusting gently upward, holding that exquisite eye contact steady as a rock; the next his hips are jerking and he’s shooting thick, hot ribbons down our throat.  All it takes is another innocent flick of Cas’ tongue and Dean’s moaning loud enough for the whole motel to hear, his face a picture of ecstasy.  We drink it down, Cas humming happily around Dean’s softening cock and only coming off once we’ve savoured each and every drop. 

Dean looks wrecked; Cas thinks he’s never looked so beautiful.

“Fuck,” he huffs, his touch turning tender as that haze of lust recedes from his eyes, clarify returning.  His hands slide from our hair to our pink cheeks instead, thumbs caressing. “Where’d you learn that?”

**“I don’t know,”** Cas answers honestly, smiling when Dean tells him how incredible he was and leans down to press soft kisses along our aching jaw. 

“I know I should return the favour but…” he murmurs against our ear and Cas automatically clenches our pelvic floor at the thought of Dean’s mouth down there. 

**“Charlie and Sam are expecting us, you’re right,”** Cas agrees, even though I’m shouting the opposite inside, throwing an internal tantrum.  Can he not feel just how badly our body is screaming out for release?

Dean stands and tucks himself away in his jeans then helps us up from the floor and into another waiting kiss.  It’s deep and unhurried, Dean’s tongue sliding inside where the taste of him still lingers, holding us tightly in his arms, and when he pulls away the look of affection in his eyes makes the air catch in our throat.

“You owe me one, Winchester,” I growl when Cas can’t find our tongue.  Dean just chortles in reply, pressing a swift kiss to our temple.

“I gotta grab a couple things,” he says, finally letting go. “I won’t be long, ok?”

“Sure,” I smile, letting out a frustrated mini-sigh, “Gonna need to change my undies anyway.”  It’s not a word of a lie; they’re practically ruined.  Dean’s halfway out the door already but can’t help but pause and groan, staring at our mid-section hungrily.  “Too late now,” I tease, “Lost your chance.”  As if.  If he walked back in right now my pants would be round my ankles before he could even count to five. 

“Next time sweetheart,” he laughs on his way out, “Next time.” 

I’ll hold him that that.

* * *

 

Seriously though Cas, where the hell did you learn all that?

He sinks our body slightly lower into the bathtub so that the water completely covers our shoulders, willing it to ease away some of the tension that being left so damn sexually frustrated has caused.  He’s being coy, and that only makes me more curious.

**As I came to realise the breadth of my feelings for Dean, I spent a while… researching.**

He watches our fingertips as he trails them along the edge of the porcelain, water dribbling from our fingers back into the tub, and I can feel the dim thrum of embarrassment that runs alongside his thoughts.

**Should I have ever have gotten the chance I wanted – I wanted to ensure that Dean… enjoyed himself.**

Well you did some pretty thorough research there Cas.  Seriously, you taught me a few things. 

Embarrassment turns to quiet pride as he gives our body a once over with a washcloth, purposefully avoiding the over-sensitive area between our legs; not that either of us aren’t _craving_ an orgasm, but because Cas seems to think there isn’t time. 

So selfish.

**Do you think Dean would ever want to be sexually intimate another male?**

It takes me a second to even start piecing together a reply because the question catches me so off guard, never mind put my thoughts into an order than makes sense. 

Well you re-made him; didn’t you get a little insight into Dean’s sexual preferences then?

**It didn’t seem relevant at the time.  He was to be Michael’s vessel on Earth; whether Dean preferred the company of men or women was none of Heaven’s concern.**

I pause, considering his words as Cas gracefully climbs out of the tub and wraps us in an unpleasantly crunchy towel.

It’s kind of a contentious issue, Cas.  There’s the whole Dr. Sexy thing and that - that siren incident.  Lots of opinions… but only Dean really knows.

**But what are your thoughts?**  He discards our towel in the bath once dry and leaves the steamy room, unconcerned by our nakedness as he searches for clean underwear to put on.

I think… I think that this is all a moot point while you’re still using me as a vessel.  I hate to be blunt but –

**No, you’re right.  I won’t ever get an answer unless I ask Dean directly.**

He pulls on our clothes, mind and stomach churning over the thought of actually confronting Dean with his feelings back in his true vessel. 

**When the Mark is gone, when all this has been rectified, perhaps then I might…** He trails off, shrugging our shoulders at no-one in particular.  Just imagining it has us feeling nauseous.

Y’know there’s no rush Cas, not on my part, anyway.  It’s not like I’m missing out on much.

**I appreciate that.  You’ve become a good friend to me; it’s not something I expected.** His thoughts replace the feeling of sickness with a warm fuzziness inside and Cas curls our arms around our torso in a weird self-embrace that makes me smile. 

So, this research you did…

Cas sits on our bed, sighing lightly but still smiling indulgently at my suggestive tone.

**I explored a variety of pornographic materials, both hetero and homosexual.**

Which did you prefer? 

He considers the question, crossing one ankle over the other.

**Though Angels are not inherently one gender or another, I’ve come to identify better with male gender roles during my extended time within Jimmy Novak.  I’ve also engaged in sexual intercourse with one female during my brief time as human, which, following events aside, was a pleasurable experience.**

You’re not really answering the question.

**I identify as male.  Dean is male.  The answer is self-explanatory, though I doubt I will know which I prefer until I engage in both activities equally.**

That seems fair enough. 

I’m just starting to wonder where Dean has gotten to – it seems like he’s been a long while – when Cas thinks aloud again.

**Do you think Dean would require me to be the receiving party, should intercourse take place?**

My cheeks immediately start to burn, mouth popping open with the shocked little noise that comes out of me at the brazenness of his question.  Cas is apparently too concerned with his own thoughts to pick up on what’s going on with me, because he carries on. 

**I believe it’s called ‘bottoming’?  I think I would prefer not, but –**

“Cas!” I interrupt, forgetting to use our ‘inside head’ voice, and he abruptly falls silent.  “Again, that’s really something that only Dean would know the answer to.”  

Jeez, you really know how to fluster a girl. 

It’s not that I don’t like the idea of it.  Hell, I’ve imagined those two at it more than once or twice, what with all the barely concealed sexual tension, though I’ve always presumed that Dean would be the one topping.  Maybe not, huh?

As if on cue Cas flashes images into my mind; Jimmy Novak’s body pressed prone on a mattress under Dean’s weight, his legs spread wide, hips tilting to push his ass in the air, eagerly inviting the other in. 

I only realise I’ve whimpered after the noise has already left my mouth, and soon enough Cas is smiling and pulling our eyes open, clearly delighted at getting his own back as our insides squirm with arousal.

Unless you want to change our underwear again, I’d stop that. 

He laughs aloud at my warning, thoroughly self-satisfied and amused.  I really hope there’s no one in the room next to ours; they’re going to be pretty worried about the crazy girl next door who’s laughing and talking to herself.  Eventually Cas lets it go, returning instead to my earlier trail of thinking.

**Dean’s been gone longer than I expected.**

Yeah.  It’s got to have been like… at least half an hour.

**We should look for him.**   He doesn’t wait for my agreement, though I do agree, rising from the bed and pausing to pick up the blade that Dean gave us this morning, tucking it back into the waistband of our jeans and ensuring it’s hidden from view.  Anxiety is starting to creep in; I can feel it in the background already of our thoughts already. **Where do we start?**

I rack my brains trying to think where he might have gone to get ‘supplies’, thinking back to his mumbling about needing coffee earlier.  Even if he’s elsewhere, I guess it’d make sense to check the motel first.  We really need a phone of our own...

 “The bar.”


	15. Chapter 15

I can’t decide if it’s good luck or bad that my hunch turns out to be right.  We spot him more or less as soon as we step through the doors, eyes sweeping the room and finding Dean sat with both elbows on the bar, staring down at a shot of something strong.  Who knows how long he’s been sat like that.

**Or how many he’s had.**

It’s funny; I’m not as angry as I’d thought I would be at the prospect of Dean falling off the wagon.  I’m disappointed, sure, but not angry.  Cas feels similarly, saddened by this slip up when it’d seemed he’d been doing so well. 

Cas sits us down at a nearby booth, wanting to observe Dean from afar to find out whether or not his willpower has indeed broken as we suspect, but unfortunately he isn’t left undisturbed for long.  The same bartender as before, the smouldering one in the tank top, approaches him with a bounce in her step and a hopeful smile. 

“Are you gonna stare at that all night?” she asks him sweetly, tilting her head. 

“I’m pacing myself,” he replies with a side-ways smile and a nod of his head, twisting the glass round and round by the rim.  Once again rebuffed and she falters and turns back to her work, leaving Dean to himself.

**Perhaps it’s not too late to intervene.**  Cas is about stand, reassured that Dean’s abstinence is still intact following the bartender’s words, but before we can rise from our seat someone else appears as if from nowhere, strutting her way towards Dean from the shadows.

“Charlie…” I mutter.  Cas debates whether to stay away or not; Charlie doesn’t look like she’s on the offensive so after a moment or two Cas sits us back down, deciding to let things play out for now.  At least we’re here if things do go to shit. 

“She’s cute,” Charlie observes as she sits.  Dean’s caught totally off guard, as surprised as we are by her sudden appearance though it soon gives way to anger. 

“You lied to me,” he replies, and thanks to Cas’ hearing the growl in his voice is evident even from here.

“You lied to yourself. That's kind of your move."  Charlie's sharp eyes survey him, up and down. "Something's off about you, though, isn't it?  Not too long ago the Dean I knew would’ve been all over that.”  She juts her head towards the barmaids back but Dean says nothing, still focused on the shot held tight between his fingers.  “Is it that hot little thing you had with you earlier?”  Her face splits into a smile as she gains a reaction, Dean’s eyes flicking up, shoulders squaring.

“You leave her out of his,” he snarls but Dark Charlie just rolls her eyes, clearly not intimidated.

“Please, my issue isn’t with her.  She’s fiery though, huh?  And _strong._ I could show a girl like that a good time.” Dean shakes his head and looks away again, clearly unamused, so Charlie drops that angle and moves on, pressing again.

“There’s definitely something though.  It’s always something with you boys.”

“I’ve made mistakes.  But I’ll pay for mine, and you’ll pay for yours,” Dean replies, too quick, the arm bearing his Mark shifting unconsciously on the bar. 

“Come on, Dean. I'm not the monster here. He is.”  She smiles a sarcastic smile, tilting her head to the side. “Thanks to you two that was one mistake I didn’t get to enjoy.”  She sighs.  “But you know I’m right.”

Dean looks away, swallows, clenches his jaw. 

“I'm right. You know what I learned about being dark? It sets you free. And part of you knows that's right, too.” 

**She’s filling his mind with poison.** Cas is barely managing to keep us in our seat, dying to intervene, but I try my best to hold him back. 

We can’t be there all the time to make him do the right thing or resist temptation; he needs to do it on his own too.

Charlie orders a drink, a second shot to sit beside Dean’s, and as the barmaid walks away, swaying her behind, I know the compliment Charlie drawls isn’t intended for the amber liquid in front of her. 

“All right, listen, ‘Dark Charlie’,” Dean begins, seeming to steel himself.

“Oh, grow up. There's no right. There's no wrong. There's just us… And them,” she says, leaning forward with the conviction of her words.

“Yeah, well, there's not gonna be a you for very much longer,” I chime in as Cas walks us to Dean’s side.  Clearly me telling him to let Dean handle this one fell on deaf ears, but hey, may as well make the best of it now. 

“Hey, you, I was wondering when you were gonna show your face,” Charlie smiles insincerely, twisting in her seat to face us, “Did princess me find a way back to Oz?  Uh-oh.”  She truly is insufferable like this; so smug and self-satisfied, so very different from the Charlie we know.

“That's right. Yeah, a former Man of Letters, retired, in Grantville, two towns over. They're gonna fix the key to Oz, find the wizard, and put you back to where you belong.”  Dean looks almost as cocky as Charlie does now, but cocky looks so much better on him than her and besides, Cas is joining in, sticking one of our hands on our hip. 

“Back into Charlie?”  She looks up at us, eyebrows raised, and Cas nods.  She remains un-phased, of course.  “Is that where I belong? Well…”  A predatory look comes into her eyes as she twists in her seat, and the three of us watch as she fixes her gaze on the barmaid and watches her exit to the back of the bar.  “Hm. We'll just see, won't we? In the meantime… if you're not gonna ask her to dance.”  She turns back to us, grinning like a coyote, “Then I will.”  Charlie swings her leg off the stool and stands to make her exit, but not before she looks our body up and down and winks to make my stomach lurch. “Have fun, kids.”

A moment of silence passes as Dean shakes his head and sighs, still fingering the edge of his shot glass until Cas sits us onto Charlie’s stool, watching the Hunter with a frown. 

**“We were-“** Cas corrects himself quickly, **“I was concerned when you didn’t return.”** Dean glances up to us for just a second, the corners of his mouth twitching as he gives the shot another turn.

“Just taking time out for some light masochism,” he chortles darkly.  Cas studies Dean’s movements while he continues to fidget around the glass, and I find myself wondering how hands that are so large and have seen so much violence can be so gentle and dexterous when Dean wants them to be. 

Cas reaches out and clasps our hand around Dean’s forearm, stilling his compulsive twirling and twiddling, and smiles softly when a frown creases the skin between those beautiful jade eyes of his.

“No-one said it’d be easy.”  Cas relaxes our grip as Dean eventually does the same, pulling away and leaving his hands palms down on the bar with another shake of his head.  Cas wanders our fingers downward, over the creases of Dean’s jacket until we meet the warm flesh of his wrist, finally placing our hand over his. It doesn’t even begin to cover his but it makes Dean smile ruefully anyway, turning his head from where it’s hung low to look up at us. 

“Thanks,” Dean murmurs, barely loud enough to hear.

**“Dean, you need only call.”** Our lips are pressed to Dean’s rough cheek when Cas tips us forward and pauses there, our eyelashes brushing his skin as we savour the closeness. 

“We better go.”  Dean makes no attempt to move, however, turning his face to press his lips to ours in the slightest of kisses.  Once he has one, though, he seems unable to keep from leaning in for another, and then another, until we’re melting into each other and his free hand is cradling our face and he’s licking his way into our mouth like there’s some sweet treat waiting inside. 

Honestly, I couldn’t give a shit if the whole bar is watching.

“What the hell are you doin’ to me?” he breathily asks against our lips, rubbing our noses whilst his eyes still closed, his thumb ghosting along a cheekbone.  “This isn’t me.”

“I like it though,” I reply with a smile, and when his eyes open he ends up chuckling quietly.

“Me too,” he agrees as he finally leans back, and just the utterance of those two words makes the heart inside our chest flutter wildly.  Whatever this is, wherever it’s going… Dean likes it too.  Likes all the affection we’re giving.  It’s wonderfully reassuring, and it has Cas grinning like a fool. 

“Hey, what happened?” Dean suddenly says, interrupting our swooning and turning our attention to the re-appearance of the barmaid.  She’s looking between the two of us with a small smile and a knowing look, as if suddenly understanding why Dean didn’t seem interested before. “My friend strike out?”

“Your friend?”  She looks confused, our faces following suit. “She just left out the back door.” 

“Shit,” I curse, Cas automatically getting up out of our seat.  Then, as if to make matters worse, the bar fills with the familiar rumbling sound of Baby’s engine.  Dean leaps up too and after a split second of a shared look of horror we run out at full speed, just in time to see Charlie pulling out of the parking lot and roaring away in Dean’s beloved car. 

“No, no, no, no! Oh, you son of a bitch!”  he yells into the night, watching helplessly as the lights of the Impala fade into the distance. 

**“What now?”** Cas asks as Dean rounds on us, rubbing his face. 

“Keep a look out,” Dean instructs, pulling his phone out of his pocket and glancing around the empty parking lot.  For a second I have absolutely no idea what he’s intending to do, naïve as I am, but I soon find out once Dean starts trying car doors whilst on the phone to Sam, giving him the head’s up. 

“Ah,” he says after a surprisingly short amount of time, the sound of a car door opening somewhere behind us.  And just in time, too, a group of people are just leaving the motel and heading for a car which thankfully isn’t the one Dean has just managed to break into.  My heart is pounding with the illegality of what we’re doing, eyes darting nervously around, and I know it’s stupid because really, what did I expect?  Sam and Dean Winchester have done much worse than just steal a couple cars. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon, let’s go.”  

* * *

 

The journey to Junction city is a tense one.  Grantsville – the decoy town Dean had dropped into conversation – is only 15 minutes away from Topeka, whereas Sam and Charlie’s true location is a full hour away down the I70 highway (45 minutes, maybe, the way Dean is driving).  Even the radio doesn’t provide a good distraction; it’s getting late and it’s all softly spoken talk shows that have Dean rolling his eyes within minutes.  Not to mention the minivan that we managed to commander has possibly the worst suspension in the world. So yeah, tense, quiet and bumpy kinda sums it up. 

As Dean swings round the corner into Clive Dillon’s driveway I let out a sigh of relief; the Impala is nowhere to be seen.  If there’s no Impala then there’s no Dark Charlie, and we might still have chance to figure this out before she shows up again.

That relief, however, is short-lived.  We’ve only just climbed out of the car, Dean running on ahead onto the brightly lit porch, when we hear that familiar rumble again and Baby appears, Dark Charlie and all. 

“Get back in the car,” Dean instructs without missing a beat, his eyes locked on Charlie’s figure emerging from his driver’s seat.

**“But Dean-“** Cas begins to argue, taking in the small woman’s immediately aggressive stance and knowing that this won’t end well.  Dean’s not having any of it. 

“Figured you’d lie about where to go next,” Charlie smiles, slamming the Impala’s door behind her.  “That’s what I’d do.”

“Olivia.  Car.  Now.”  Cas sighs, torn between his urge to simultaneously protect Dean whilst do as he asks.  The scales finally tip in favour of obedience when he flashes a startlingly stern look our way, taking a few paces forward towards Charlie whilst she does the same.  Reluctantly Cas climbs back into the car, resigning to watch the action through the windshield for the time being at least.   

“What the hell do you want?”

“I just want to talk to her,” Charlie replies, widening her arms in an expression of innocence. 

Yeah, right, we saw what happened the last time she ‘just wanted to talk’ to somebody.

“Oh, you're not going anywhere near her. I'm not gonna let you corrupt her,” Dean counters, fiercely protective as always.  It’s one of the things Cas admires most about the eldest Winchester; his unfailing, unshakable loyalty to those he cares about, even when it comes at a price.

“Corrupt her?” Charlie scoffs.

“You take one more step, I’m gonna put you down,” he threatens, pointing a finger and frowning menacingly.  Charlie is undeterred. 

“There’s the Dean I love.”   She takes a few steps forward as if to walk past him, their eyes locked as if daring each other to make the first move. Cas and I can only watch on as nerves twisting our stomach, unwilling to even take a breath just in case it jolts one of them into action.

As it is, Dean snaps first.  He strikes out; a quick right jab that smacks Charlie in the mouth and she stumbles back slightly with the force of it, fingering her split lip with a satisfied smirk. 

“You hit like a girl that never learned how to hit,” she taunts, assuming a fighting stance as Dean does the same, ready to go.

He blocks the first punch but doesn’t manage the second and neither does he avoid the knee that Charlie aims for his groin, in turn rendering him unable to stop the kick that lands in his stomach, sending him flying.  He smacks face-first into the porch and tumbles to the ground with a grunt that’s drowned out by my own startled cry. 

Dark Charlie’s strong, no doubt about it, but I can’t help but feel like Dean’s holding back.  It’s beyond horrible to just sit here and watch him rolling around in pain…

**Both this Charlie and the one inside are affected by Dean’s actions, Liv.   It follows that Dean would try to minimise any damage she receives.**

“Aren’t you going to come out here and give your boyfriend a hand?”  Charlie goads as she waves and grins at us from afar, Dean floundering onto his side and clutching his stomach.  I’m vaguely aware of the sound of fabric ripping, our hands gripping the passenger seat too hard as Cas growls in frustration, all too eager to come to Dean's aid.

Charlie’s attention is drawn back to Dean as he manages to rise, touching the bridge of his nose with a dark look.  It’s too far from here to see what damage has been done, but it wouldn’t be the first time Dean’s had his nose broken. 

Their dance begins again, and this time Dean blocks the first punch she throws.   A savage blow lands in his side seconds after that but Dean doesn’t falter; he catches Charlie’s arm mid-swing and throws his own right hook that leaves her stumbling away, bent over double. 

I’m wishing and praying that that’s the end of it, that she'll back down, but Charlie’s like a maniacal jack-in-the-box, springing right back with that unfaltering smirk and going for him again.

“That’s it big boy, let it all out.”

She swings wide; he ducks then returns it like for like to send her staggering again and I know he’s not holding back anymore.  The force of his punches are testament to that.

With every hit I’m flinching inside, wincing as each one connects and more damage is dealt between people I care about.  Every time Dark Charlie cries out in pain I can almost hear the accompanying echo from inside the house, and it disturbs me more than I can say.  More disturbing than that is the way it doesn’t seem to be making Dean hesitate at all; he’s barely slowing down, stalking across the lawn after Charlie with a frightening look in his eyes.

Cas, he’s losing it.

“You hurt my friend.”  Anger flows from him, completely unrestrained, his whole body reflecting the desire to inflict pain on those who’ve wronged him, desire fuelled by the Mark on his arm. 

“I learned it from you.”  The look on his face when she taunts him again just confirms the ugly feeling festering in my stomach and suddenly I feel very much like I’m going to be sick.

He’s going to do something stupid, Cas, he’s-

Dean blocks one more swing and then another.  He keeps a tight grip on Charlie’s wrist and angles it round her back as he seizes her shoulder, pushes her forward and twists, bends her further, pulls back on her arm even more-

We’re halfway across the lawn when we hear the sickening snap of bone that’s quickly drowned out by the sound of Charlie’s scream.  Our feet seem to stop all of their own, brought to a standstill by the horror of what we’ve just seen and the look of satisfaction on Dean’s face.  

It’s only when he continues to push cruelly, prolonging her agony as bone threatens to pierce through skin, that Cas snaps back into action.

**“Dean!”** he shouts, **“Let her go!”**  It only takes a second or two for Dean to blink and relinquish his hold on Charlie, but it feels like forever, like everything is moving in slow motion.  He stumbles back and Cas rushes us forward to place a hand on each of the wounded man’s shoulders, worried that he’ll fall now that all the rage seems to have left him and his body sags.   

“That’s enough, Dean, that’s enough,” I ramble, one of our hands cupping the face that’s turned to look at the ground.  “It’s alright, s’alright.”  He looks up to meet our gaze and even now, at the most inappropriate time, I find myself thinking how handsome he is.  Even with the blood dribbling down his nose, a mottled, purple cheekbone and misery twisting the set of his mouth. 

“Liv, I-“ Dean’s eyes look past me, his pupils constricting to the size of pinpricks as his mouth does the opposite, opening up, soundless.

In all honestly, it’s the abrupt sound of a gunshot that surprises me most out of all the events that follow that startled, wide-eyed expression; not the feel of Charlie’s breath on our neck, nor Dean’s blade sliding out from the waistband of our jeans.  Even when it’s thrust through our back, the sharp stainless steel effortlessly slicing through cheap polyester and fear-slickened skin, I find myself deliriously thinking that I’d expected being stabbed to hurt more. 

I think I hear someone shouting my name; Cas in our head or Dean, I’m not really sure, but suddenly the arms that were holding us up aren’t there anymore and I’m hitting damp ground.  It’s not so bad; the grass smells nice and it’s cool against our back.  The wound – it must be gaping, red and sticky with our blood – feels almost pleasantly warm.   

Isn’t that weird, Cas?

Through blurred vision I can see a shape that looks like Dean, bent low over and looming over someone.  Their cries keep breaking through the static that’s starting to fill our head, and as lights start to dance in front of our eyes the pain becomes more real.  A burning hot poker in my insides, twisting and turning.  

Fuck.  _Fuck_ it hurts.

More names; Charlie, Dean, Olivia, they all blur into one as I writhe in pain, vaguely aware of my own broken cries and the tears streaming down my face.  It’s a relief when those dancing lights start to fade, everything turning shades of grey.  Even the pain feels more removed, like it’s happening to someone else, not me. 

I willingly fall limply into blackness, cocooned by strong arms and the smell of leather. 

 


End file.
